The Romanoff Chronicles
by R4nd0mWr1t3r
Summary: Turns out the Black Widow kept a diary. While cleaning up the mess left behind after the events of Endgame, Natasha's journals are found. Everyone learns what was going through her head during those five years. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Just a random idea that popped into my head. I have a few chapters planned and know roughly how I want it to end but we'll see where it takes us! I'll aim to post weekly.**

**Disclaimer: I don't anything Marvel or anything you might recognise.**

* * *

"I just don't get why we have to do this every day, it's stupid," Lila whined as the Barton's made their way along the meandering trail back to their home. The day, though ending, was nice. There was a calmness to the air, pierced only by birds calling to one another and the occasional scurrying of woodland animals. The Barton's themselves made their own contribution to the mild disturbance with their gentle footsteps.

"Because it's family time," Clint said, wondering why he had to answer the same goddamned question every day, "and family time isn't stupid." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cooper throw his sister a look. No one had officially introduced him to it yet, it was only used when they thought he wasn't looking. But he liked to think of it as the not-now-Lila-dad's-been-alone-for-five-years-and-needs-time-to-adjust-so-shut-up-and-give-him-a-bit-longer look.

It was his new favourite.

And even though he couldn't see her, he just knew Lila was throwing out her patented whatever-don't-look-at-me-like-that shoulder shrug.

Laura grabbed his hand, caressing her thumb along his. It was a familiar gesture and he hadn't realised how much he'd missed it while she was gone. They never needed any words to know what the other was thinking, as cliché as that might sound. Clint had never believed in that sort of love, and it's not like it happened straight away. It came with years together, with everything they had experienced and it grew every day. And that made it all the more precious, which is why he was relieved it hadn't disappeared with five years of nothing.

The trail widened out and they soon breached the tree line. The barn came into view and, as always happened now, Clint was thrown back to his first experience of time-travel with a lurch. How he clung desperately to Nate's baseball mitt and the sound of Lila's voice. That agonising tidal wave of hope setting him adrift after so long of being anchored in the darkness.

"Looks like someone's come to visit," Laura said as they rounded the corner, bringing her husband back to the here and now. The sun glinted off something, blinding Clint as he tried to get a look at whoever was bothering his retirement this time.

History told him coming out of retirement wasn't a good idea. It either ended up with a monitor wrapped around his ankle or heading to a dark place he never, ever wanted to end up. He and Laura managed to work through the former, and the kids were pretty happy to see more of him. And the latter, well that was still sitting heavily over them. Probably because he hadn't admitted to anyone what he'd allowed himself to become. Instead, he hid his shame with his grief, took his family for walks, insisted on their Friday BBQs and encouraged Lila to keep on practising with the bow.

If only the others got the memo. Cooper didn't tease Lila about her taste in music anymore, and she didn't threaten to shoot him during her next practice if he made one more comment about her favourite band. Nate didn't run them ragged, his heart no longer in the mischief he loved, sensing the change in his family. Laura was the only one who tried, but Clint could see her cracking. Could hear the almost questions on her lips and see them in her eyes.

He wanted to answer them, he really wished he could. He just didn't know how to have that conversation. He didn't know if he deserved to be walking freely and couldn't bring himself to give up the time with his family, the time he never thought he'd have again.

Needless to say, uninvited visitors were nothing but a pain in his ass.

"Looks like one of those jet thingies you always used to fly around in," Laura said, a hand above her eyes as she tried to make out what was ahead.

"Guess it's time for you to take off already, huh dad?" Lila said. Clint did his best not to grit his teeth.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he knew the pet name would annoy her before she tutted. As a parent he knew he shouldn't go for the cheap shot where his kids were concerned, but sometimes he thought it was the only way to keep them in check. Especially his little girl who'd shown every sign of boycotting the standard teenage rebellion but was now embracing it with open arms.

The blast from the past came with some bittersweet memories. Right then, they were more bitter than sweet, which is why he wasn't overly happy to see it. Okay, so that was an understatement. He was pretty fucking pissed.

"Clint," Laura called after him as he started marching towards the jet. The ramp was down and he thought he could make out people sitting on it. Two people he hadn't expected to see but neither being the one he thought, for a fleeting, agonising moment, it would be. They looked up at Laura's call. One of them started to stand while the other remained seated. Well isn't that just typical of him.

Heavy footfalls behind told Clint that his family was following and he hoped none of them went through that painful moment of wishful thinking he had.

"Nope, nuh uh. You can't park here. You've gotta go," he yelled at the visitors, waving his hands to shoo them away like a couple of diseased pigeons.

"Clint," Hill started, already making her way down the ramp, careful not to disturb the box sat between her and Fury. His hand rested protectively atop it while he watched his second attempt to talk the archer down.

"I said no. Get off my goddamned property."

Hill's jaw worked as she tried to think of something to say, but Clint turned around before she thought of the right thing. The amount of times she'd managed to talk him into doing something without him even realising it wasn't his idea, he didn't want to risk it happening again. Couldn't.

He span on his heels and came face to face with Laura. She sported a weird look, behind her Cooper was trying to sneak a curious glance at Fury's eye patch. He was almost past them when the former director spoke up. He might've avoided Hill's silver tongue but he couldn't avoid Fury's.

"Agent Barton-"

"I said no, Nick," didn't mean he wasn't going to try, though. "I'm not an agent anymore and I'm not listening to what you have to sell. Now, get the fuck off my land."

Lila gasped. Clint generally tried not to curse in front of his children, but there was just something about the audacity of Fury and Hill being on his land in, what he was sure was, his old Quinjet. All of it a reminder of his past, his time spent at Shield. And much of that time was spent with _her_.

This was a trigger he could do without. One they could all do without. They were trying to move on, to get over this and how could they with the past literally sitting on their doorstep.

"We're not here to sell, Barton. Only to give," Fury said. There was something in his voice that caught Clint's attention and made him turn around. Damn it. Fury finally stood, stepping down the ramp to look him in the eye. With a solemn face, Hill picked the box up and followed in his wake. "We've been helping out at the compound, there's a lot to get through. Lang and Van Dyne are flitting through the rubble looking for anything useful we can salvage from the wreckage. The pickings are slim but they find things here and there. Seems Stark installed a secure vault beneath the building. The room was blown apart but the security boxes were intact."

He paused for a moment and looked to make sure Hill was carrying their burden. When he didn't start up again she took over from him.

"Lang got one of them unlocked and figured you'd probably want it," her voice cracked as she shoved the box at Clint. It was slight and he only noticed it because he'd worked with her for so long. But it was enough. "We went to her safe houses, too, in case she left anything else. There are a couple more of these in there."

She jerked her thumb behind her and she was back to being the usually stoic Maria Hill he was so used to.

Clint just stared, dumbfounded, at the box. What was he supposed to do with it, and the others? Why would he want this? The questions kept repeating in his head until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let me take that for you," Laura said, unshed tears in her eyes but nothing but love in her voice. She took it wordlessly, not even flinching when she realised it was heavier than she expected. She watched after her husband as he climbed into the jet to get the other two. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" She asked the two formidable looking agents. Hill looked to her boss.

"Sure," Fury nodded, surprising everyone. Though, Clint always suspected he had a soft spot for their missing comrade. As soon as the archer stepped off the ramp, it lifted into the Quinjet, sealing it off from outsiders.

They all filed into the house as the sun finally fell beneath the horizon. Laura started dinner, with Cooper's help, while Lila sat with Fury and Hill at the dining table, ignoring Nate's attempts to lighten the mood with a good-natured fart joke because she sat on the squeaky chair. Clint dropped his boxes next to the first on an unused part of the kitchen top. Curiosity was gnawing at his gut. What on earth would _she_ bother to keep in security boxes?

He carefully opened the first one, noting the battered sides. It was a miracle they'd withstood the might of Thanos' ship.

"Oh god," he breathed.

Looking up at him were the spines of several books, and judging by the weight of the other two boxes they had something similar. They were all the same, carefully looked after and put in order. There were other things in the box, but he only had eyes for the volumes.

"Honey," Laura looked up from where she was chopping vegetables, "what is it?"

Clint reverently picked up the first one, hand shaking as he lifted it away from the others. It was simple and unremarkable, just how she liked most things in her life. He held it up so his wife could see and he knew he didn't have to say anything for her to understand because those unshed tears were finally falling. Cooper and Lila looked at each other, confused.

"She kept a journal."


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner wasn't exactly a comfortable affair.

Fury was an awkward guest. He'd spent so long in shadows small talk was almost a foreign concept to him. Hill wasn't great either, but she was definitely better at humaning than her boss.

It didn't help that the boxes hung in the air between them. Lila wanted to forgo dinner and start reading and almost threw an honest to god tantrum when her parents told her to set the table. She only cut herself off when Fury stood and carried all three boxes into the living room, effectively ending the conversation. Thank god for friends in high places.

Despite popular belief, Clint wasn't stupid. He knew every single person around the table wanted to see what was written on those pages. He knew the after dinner entertainment would be him reading out some of the entries. Everyone just wanted to hear something from her, wanted to believe that she wasn't gone and they had some way of bringing her back, and if the best they could do was words from the past, well, then they would make the most of it.

Could he, though?

Every day they stayed strong for the kids and every night, once they were in bed, Laura broke down while loading the dishwasher, or preparing lunch, or ironing, or in the shower. So Clint comforted her. He reassured her. Said everything would be okay. He shed no tears and did his best to spare no thought. So could he really face five years worth of her private moments and inner demons?

During dessert the chatter was a little more light-hearted, Laura doing her best to keep everyone entertained. And yet, he still felt the glances landing on Clint, who scowled at nothing as he fell deeper and deeper into thought. He wouldn't be alone in feeling the pain. Fury wasn't the only one with a soft spot, Hill had liked her too. Not many people bothered to see beyond her past, but that's exactly what Hill did from the beginning. And Clint knew she was grateful. He wondered if _she_ knew they were friends.

"Clint, honey," Laura once again pulled him out of his thoughts, "just open them." She grabbed his arm. Cooper and Lila averted their gaze, sensing who was about to be mentioned and still unable to control their emotions when she was the topic of discussion.

He sighed.

"I don't know, Laura. You know her. She-she," he ran a hand over his face and leaned into the back of his chair. What? She was private? She didn't like people touching her stuff? Hell, she didn't even want people to know what stuff she had. He was pretty sure the Barton's were the only ones who knew she - shit!

"Where's Liho?" He sat up abruptly, looking at Hill.

"Where's what now?" Fury answered.

"Liho. Nat's cat."

He winced.

"Auntie Nat!" Nate yelled, excited to hear the name of one of his favourite people. "Auntie Nat's coming?"

The sheer joy that lit up the young boy's face left all of the older Barton's stricken. Their masks fell and the grief was as clear as anything. If he didn't know any better, Clint would have said he saw the same look mirrored in their guests' eyes.

"Oh sweetheart, we've been over this," Laura's voice caught at the look on her youngest son's face as he sort of recalled something they'd said in the past, "she can't come."

"But you said that ages ago," he eked out the 'ages' to really push home his point, "she has to be on her way now. She promised, she was gonna teach me 'shun."

"Teach you what?" Fury asked.

"Russian," Clint said.

"Well I can teach you that," Fury offered, "I speak it nearly as well."

Nate gave the older man a sympathetic look. "But _you're_ not auntie Nat," he said before cramming the last spoonful of pudding into his mouth. Well, about a third of it, the rest landed on his t-shirt by way of his chin. He was completely oblivious to the emotional tsunami he'd just set off, Lila was looking up at the ceiling, arms folded, blinking rapidly. Laura clutched the edge of the table so hard her knuckles were white. And Cooper had stood up, under the pretence of gathering everyone's dishes, and was methodically stacking them in the sink while trying to pull himself together. Clint just stared at his youngest with sorrow. Was he even going to remember her in a few years?

"We didn't see a cat," Hill said, "we can look again if you want?"

Clint thought about it. Nat always acted like her four-legged companion didn't mean anything, that she wasn't attached. She tried to convince herself they only passed through each other's lives on the way to food and rest. Yet, at the first sign of sickness his partner had taken the cat to the vet in the carrier she just happened to have stowed away in a closet. She undermined her own security and kept a window cracked open so Liho could nose her way in if Nat wasn't around. And more than once, Clint had caught a flash of a cat-centric photo on her phone. Yes, his best friend had a connection with that furry personification of aloofness.

He nodded.

Not much later, they were all sitting in the living room. Awkwardly ignoring the elephant somehow crammed into those three boxes. Clint didn't allow his eyes to even settle on them. So it was with an exasperated sigh that Lila stood up, grabbed the top one and dropped it by her dad's side. She glared at him with a fierceness in her eyes and dared him to look away.

"Lila!"

"Sorry, mum. But I'm sick of this, this silence. This empty space in our conversations, at our table, in our home, where she should be. She didn't give her life so that we could forget about her."

All the while she continued to stare at her father, who dropped his gaze as the guilt washed over him.

"Open it," Lila demanded.

"Sweetheart - "

"She deserves better than this, dad. Open it."

His mouth hung open as he bore the brunt of each word, feeling the burn of the shame that coursed through his veins. Her words were truth, a truth that ran so much deeper than she realised. One he'd always known but never understood how to honour.

She did deserve better.

So, Clint squared his shoulders and ran another hand over his face and he looked at the offending box sitting innocently on the sofa. Here was a man who'd faced down aliens, survived godly mind-control, escaped the Raft and weathered the storm of Laura's wifely wrath when he came back a fugitive. Yet, opening that box for the second time in two hours and pulling out the first volume of his best friend's inner thoughts was harder than all of that.

The pages separated as he rested the spine in his palm, assaulting him with the smell of book. Swallowing became difficult as a lump clogged up his throat. In his mind he saw Nat nestled into the same sofa he was sat on, a blanket across her legs, and a book on her lap. As she opened it to her page she brought it to her nose and inhaled the scent, a small smile playing on her lips as she relished the smallest of luxuries. It was a habit he noticed back during her first days after defecting. He watched her over the monitors and every time she read, she started with that same ritual. Each time the smile appeared and he just knew he'd made the right call. No one else in her position would have found anything to smile about. She did, in the simplest of places.

He flicked to the first page as more memories tried to burst through, but he refused to let down his wall. The silence surrounding everyone in the room grew thicker and thicker, the anticipation practically smothering every second that ticked by. It was as if they had uncovered a precious artefact. To him they had.

Yet, that didn't stop him from almost dropping the book as he looked properly at the page for the first time. Didn't stop him from almost jerking away as the achingly familiar handwriting, neatly and precisely, slapped him across the face and punched him in the gut. The lump in his throat ached so much and the threatening tears burned his eyes until he had to close them. His breathing came out ragged, sitting on the verge of sobs. He rested the book on his knees as he massaged his temples.

_C'mon, Clint, Get it together_,_ she wouldn't want this. Hell, I don't want this_.

So he tried again, opened the book once more and forced himself to look at her writing. He hesitated, eyes seeking out Laura's and realising she was looking at him with something other than confused pity.

That was nice.

A deep breath.

"Look, I don't know why I'm writing in this stupid thing," he might have been saying the words but he could hear her voice so clearly, "If Barton ever finds out he'll have a field day."

He grinned. If the circumstances were different he'd most definitely be taking the piss out of her. When you're the only person who can get away with teasing one of the deadliest people in the world, why not make the most of it?

"But I'm doing it anyway, writing things down, because I've run out of ideas. I don't know what else to do."

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A/N: Okay, so no diary entry here but I promise you we'll start hearing from Natasha in the next chapter.

Thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing, following and faving - I really appreciate your support :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel or anything you might recognise.


	3. Chapter 3

**29 April 2018**

Look, I don't know why I'm writing in this stupid thing. If Barton ever finds out he'll have a field day.

But I'm doing it anyway, writing things down, because I've run out of ideas. I don't know what else to do. What are you supposed to do when half the universe turns to dust because you fucked up?

I'm trying to figure out where we went wrong, think of what we could have done differently. Killed Vision right off the bat? Not an option. Talk to Shuri sooner? We got to her as soon as we could.

Kept the team together? Maybe.

Only a few days have passed but, in case you can't tell, this particular pill is a bitter one to swallow. And it keeps getting worse.

There's still no word from Stark.

Not sure why we're expecting to hear anything. Thanos had the time stone. Thanos watched Wanda kill Vision. Thanos rewound time to bring the android back to life, only to kill him again for the mind stone. The time stone was with Doctor Strange, who was with Stark. Either he's dead or very close to it.

I hope I'm wrong.

I want to be wrong.

Shellhead's a pain in the ass but his heart's in the right place. Steve keeps saying there has to be a way to track him down. And honestly, if the World War Two vet with a seventy year nap to his name is the one to figure out how to narrow down the space search, then I will go skinny dipping in the Volga at the height of Russian winter. I mean, how do you track a single man down in the depths of space? Is he even in our galaxy? Is he further out? What was even waiting for him on that ship?

Stark's probably the only one who could figure it.

Pepper's checking in every day. She's frantic. I've settled her down in my room for the moment, not like I'm gonna be using it. When I left her she was crying in her sleep. I want to help her, but I don't know how.

That was always more of a Wanda thing.

She's intuitive.

Was.

* * *

**29 April 2018 (again)**

We found Nick's car today.

Abandoned in the middle of the road with a 90s style pager lying on the ground next to it.

He was always such a presence, it's strange to me that something got the better of him. I hacked into the CCTV footage of the road and watched it unfold. Hill was with him when it happened. She looked scared. I've never seen her scared before.

The pager was the last thing Nick went for.

Why is it so important?

The doc's set it up so we can monitor it. Nick's not a man to waste time, especially his last few seconds.

I watched the footage again. Several times. Saw them disappear over and over. I still don't understand what I'm feeling.

Steve, Bruce, Thor, Rhodey and Rocket (a gun-toting, talking racoon version of Stark - I wish I was making this up) are all here. Just like me. Pretending to be useful. Not having a single idea what to do.

I just hope this pager leads to something. We could use a win, however small.

* * *

**30 April 2018**

Hey, so I guess I'm back. You must be a good listener, even if I'm not good at talking.

Everything's a mess. Half the population might be gone but that hasn't halved our problems. Though Steve and I are officially no longer fugitives. Yay.

We're not trained to deal with this type of threat. Hell, we're not even trained to comprehend it.

I don't even know why I'm wasting time with this journal. I need to find Clint. I know he's alive, all his gear is gone and there was debris all over his living room floor that looked like it might have once been an ankle monitor.

I need to find him. Maybe one of the others will be with him. Maybe he won't be alone.

If Laura, the kids - I can't. I can't even go there.

* * *

**2 May 2018**

Just when things seem as crazy as they can possibly be, shit gets weirder.

I miss the good old days where the weirdest thing in my life was my partner.

Nick's pager finally paid off. It stopped transmitting and the next thing I know there's a blonde woman standing behind us, in some sort of tactical suit, demanding to know where Fury was.

It was difficult to get a read on her. She didn't seem hostile but there was definitely power there. She didn't look like a threat but I doubt we could stop her if she decided to attack. She didn't know any of us but she knew Nick.

That man and his secrets.

Turns out she's Carol Danvers. In the corridors of Shield hers was a name conspicuous only because of the silence that always followed. It reminded me of the Red Room and the way the higher ups would only whisper about the Winter Soldier.

Except my fellow brain-washee had nothing on her.

She last paid us a visit in the 90s (explains the pager) when Nick was still an agent - around about the same time I was learning how to perform a killer arabesque, literally. A bunch of shape shifting aliens, Skrulls, were paying a visit to Earth. I'm guessing they weren't here for the sights.

Apparently she was in an accident in the 80s - I imagine this was one of the few times I was doing something any normal kid would do, like throwing a tantrum - and she ended up absorbing the power of, wait for it, yes, the Tesseract! So she has powers from an infinity stone.

Long story short, shit happened, the good guys won (which actually happened to be the Skrulls) and she had to leave. But not before handing a customised pager over to Nick and saying it was for emergencies.

When Danvers said this, Thor snorted.

"Your Agent Fury left it too late. He was already turning to dust."

I disagree.

As long as there is blood left running through my veins and breath left in my lungs, there will always be hope we can get everyone back.

Still no sign of Clint.

* * *

**3 May 2018**

Hey.

Carol's gone. She boosted our space monitoring systems and found a signal identical to Stark's suit tech. Apparently, in the grand scheme of things, he's not too far from Titan, which was Thanos' home planet.

When did I start living in a sci-fi?

She's out there looking for Stark. We haven't told Pepper. What would be the point in getting her hopes up?

Still no sign of Clint. How is it we can track Stark from the other side of the galaxy but we can't find a man running around with a bow and arrow on our own planet?

* * *

**3 May 2018 (Part II)**

Hey, so I bit the bullet.

I already knew the answer but I needed it confirmed. I had Friday run facial recognition across the population. There was not a single match.

They're gone.

I just want to hear Coop's laugh.

See Lila's smile.

Play one of Nate's ridiculous games.

And I need one of your pep talks, Laura. Not that I deserve it, I'm letting you down. I can't find him.

* * *

**6 May 2018**

Hey.

I've decided I'm going to call you Tom.

Getting bored of not knowing how to start talking to you. Maybe a name will help. I'm actually missing the small talk.

So, from now on it's Tom. Taken straight from Harry Potter because it's Lila's favourite. Much to Clint's dismay. He always griped about how there weren't any proper archers. I think he just didn't like it when Lila giggled and called him Firenze or Bane. He tried to get her to read Hunger Games, until Stark started calling him Katniss. Poor guy, could never win.

But that's what he gets for being such an easy target.

So, Tom. I have one favour to ask of you. Play nice and don't use everything I've written against me. I'm in no mood to fight a basilisk.

There's already enough going on in my head.

Outside of it, too.

Rhodey isn't coping. He's good at keeping the mask on, but I'm better at ripping it off. He's worried about Stark, he's having nightmares about the ash, he clings to Pepper as much as she clings to him. His jokes are hollow. Smile stilted. Eyes haunted.

Steve is running, all the time. Even with the serum the hours he spends circling the compound can't be good for him. When he's inside I follow him from time to time to make sure he's alright. He pushes himself so close to the edge with the exercise and no sleep and ends up being sick. He wants to feel something. When he's not doing anything his eyes go distant and I know he's replaying Bucky's disappearance. I ask him to sleep and he tries. I ask him to eat and he tries. I ask him to tone down the stress on his body and he tries.

Rocket walks around mumbling. He has to be the most foul-mouthed racoon I've ever met. He mumbles about people I don't know, he mumbles insults at them, at us, at himself. Every now and then I see him pounding a small fist into his leg, voice catching as he calls himself a moron. We share jokes, cutting remarks, lace ourselves with barbed insults coated in sarcasm.

Bruce is Bruce. He's thrown himself into doctor mode, he monitors us as best he can. Nags us to take better care of ourselves while not bothering to take any of his own advice. Hours go by and he barely registers. Sometimes I've been able to sneak in and leave him food and tea without him noticing. He always eats it. Which is more than I can say for the rest of us.

I've never seen Thor look so broken. Everything has drained from him, his fight, his desire, his joy. Out of all of us he can claim to have lost everything. But he shoulders the burden of blame like it belongs to him alone. It's eating away at him and it doesn't matter how many times I tell him it's not his fault. It doesn't matter when I say what we all could have done better. It doesn't matter when I tell him I failed to keep the team together. It doesn't matter.

In all of them I see a bit of me. Broken reflections everywhere I turn. Dogged by answerless questions. How do you stay strong in the middle of all this? How do you act whole when the most important parts are missing?

How do you grieve when you don't even know what you're grieving?

How do you find a man who doesn't want to be found?

Where is our proper archer?

* * *

With a snap of the book, Clint brought everyone back to the present. The words swimming in front of him were so Nat. He could hear her raspy voice and the deadpan way she liked to deliver some of her jokes. He saw the smirk when she made him smile. But he also saw through her.

He saw through her jokes and her written words and could see the pain she was struggling with. The pain he had helped cause; and the confusion and the desperation. The constant deflections and the crossing out of things that she probably needed to get down. She was writing like she spoke, edited. With a cool and measured head. As soon as she felt herself cracking she kept it short and abandoned ship.

It was choking him.

But he could also sense the looks he was getting from the others. While he had no doubt Fury and Hill knew of his extracurricular activities, he hadn't told his family. It's not the sort of thing you can just slip into conversation.

_Hey honey, I picked up some groceries on the way home, I noticed we were running low on milk. Oh, by the way, while you were gone I might've gone a bit mad and killed a whole bunch of people, so don't ever leave me again. Kay? Bye._

That wasn't going to go down well. But in typical Nat fashion, she was forcing him to face his mistakes. Granted, managing it from beyond the grave was impressive, but that was just Nat.

"Where were you, dad?" It was Lila. Of course it was Lila. She was daring him to lie to her.

"By this point? I'm not sure."

"Bullshit."

"Lila!" Clint and Laura said at the same time.

He wasn't ready to admit to his sins. He wasn't ready to look them in the eye and confess everything he'd done. But he had to throw them something.

"Look honey. You disappeared. All of you. You were gone, dead. I might've still been here. Walking, talking, breathing. But I was dead too. Grief does strange things to a person."

She went to say something but Laura shushed her.

"All I can say right now, all I'm able to say, is that I'm not proud. I didn't react well," Clint whispered. He could almost laugh at himself. Understatement of the century, right? Steve hid behind those VA meetings and ignored his duties as an Avenger. Thor isolated himself from everything that triggered the pain. Avoidance and depression were legitimate responses to grief.

Murder?

Since when was that a legitimate response to anything?

Hill cleared her throat and Clint looked the former deputy in the eye. She held his gaze, offering him a touch of sympathy. He didn't deserve that. He wasn't any better than the guys they chucked behind bars.

Tearing his eyes away from Hill, he caught Laura's gaze, then Coop's. Neither understood what was going on in his head but they knew him well enough to know not to push. So, instead, they each gave him a soft nod, eyes flickering to the book in his hand. Nate crawled onto Laura's lap.

Could he carry on? So far she'd kept mostly to the facts, ignoring emotions in favour of logic. The only one she seemed willing to actually entertain was humour. And that was already difficult enough for him. But there was so much on her mind, so much she was holding back. He knew the dam would break, not even Natasha Romanoff could stoically handle the loss of half the universe. It was just a matter of when.

"Dad," Cooper nudged gently, "do you want me to carry on?"

He had to continue, as much as the thought of what lay ahead tore him apart; Cooper, Lila, Nate and Laura all deserved this. Their sense of closure.

He opened the book again.

* * *

A/N: This ended up being heavier than I thought, so heads up, the next chapter won't have much light in it either. Though I will try and lighten things up a little after that. I just imagine Nat's frame of mind at that point in time wouldn't be the clearest or the brightest.

Speaking of Nat, I'm not sure if she comes across as a little OOC - let me know if you have any concerns. And, regarding the dates, I decided to base the timeline from when the Infinity War was released, so 26 April would have been day zero and she started the journal a couple of days after they lost the battle.

Thank you as always for your follows, faves and reviews. I really appreciate all of them :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or anything vaguely recognisable


	4. Chapter 4

8 May 2018

Hey Tom.

I've always prided myself on my ability to remember details and conversations. So many times it's saved my life, brought me through hairy situations and dug me out of impossible places.

Without any missions, no covers to explore or criminals to expose, the everyday conversations get the payback treatment. The small and pointless chats in the kitchen, the whispered hellos and goodbyes, the hushed pleasantries in the hallways. Each person's expression, the feeling of the room, the weather.

I always prided myself on it but now I hate it.

Whenever I stop work, even just for a moment. Whenever my mind screeches to a halt, everything comes flooding back. Slipping through the widening cracks, whooshing in and sweeping away all defences. Every memory flies past. Before I realise, I've followed it down the rabbit hole.

Sam on the jet as we come into Wakanda, that cocky smile of his wavering ever so slightly, his anxieties peeking through, swirling in terror of losing another friend in battle. Sam flying high above alongside Rhodey, their banter in our ears as they bring down a Thresher together. Rhodey calling out Sam's name as ash clogs the air.

Vision collapsed in Scotland, looking forever grateful for Steve's heroics. Vision looking at Wanda like in all the world she was the only thing _worth_ looking at. The pain in his eyes at the compound as it dawned on her what he was asking. Vision's grey and lifeless corpse against the lush greenery.

Wanda, sweet Wanda who reminds me so much of Yelena. Wanda who had every reason to fall and fail beneath everything thrown at her but always deciding to rise. Wanda who is the strongest of us all. Wanda who thought I never noticed she didn't return my jacket. Wanda who sacrificed everything to save the universe only to see it all undone before falling to pieces over her lover's body.

Maria in Prague looking incomplete without Nick at her side as she dropped off my gear and supplies before I found Steve on the run. Maria cocking a gun and preparing to stand alone against whatever was coming through the door, her expression of grim acceptance turning to one of cautious relief when she realised it was me. Maria massaging her temples in pure frustration as Clint explained how someone named Hawkeye couldn't see the hazard symbol on the door leading into a room full of caged and abused animals. Maria having to actually physically restrain herself from face palming when he defended why he thought it was a good idea to bring one of the contaminated creatures back to headquarters. Maria calling out to Nick as she vanished.

Nick stepping out of the shadows, brow furrowed in that serious way of his. The mischievous glint he always got in his eye before spinning a bullshit story for the unsuspecting. The ghost smile that flitted across his lips when someone surprised him. Nick lying in the hospital, flat lining. Nick, that unflappable immovable presence, measuring me up as I followed Clint into headquarters for the first time, head held high despite the handcuffs digging into my wrists. That slight, almost imperceptible nod once he'd finished, the one I'm still not sure happened.

The Bartons. Just, the Bartons. Every memory, every second I spent with them. Every moment they made me feel normal. Every time they made me feel... necessary.

Too many lasts.

Even Coulson, these many years later. His funeral.

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._

* * *

10 May 2018

Hi Tom.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the most chaotic places after international disasters are governmental war rooms. It doesn't matter where in the world, nothing will be organised. Nothing will make sense. And nothing will be fixed right at the beginning.

They called Rhodey in not long after Danvers left to find Stark. They want to be seen doing something without getting us less reliable Avengers involved, bring in the one known for his patience and consistency because he'll happily be their PR puppet. He stopped by today. Even he's tired of them pulling his strings. They overestimate his tolerance for political bullshit.

We took a walk together. The walls are too confining, claustrophobia a defining feeling of the passing days. The change of scenery a welcome escape, for me. For him, he just hates being surrounded by those screens.

Most people would assume we don't have time for each other, but I've known him for as long as I've known Stark and Pepper. We have differing opinions on things and different limits on what we're willing to do to achieve something, but that's what I like about him. He's not a man to blindly draw a line. He's thought about it, considered it and his morals are drawn from a logic and a deep knowledge of himself.

His fingers tapped against the frame wrapped around his lower body, a new habit, a coping mechanism. It was his bit of Stark. Wherever he went, his best friend was with him.

I felt for my necklace, tracing the familiar outline.

He didn't ask much and I didn't offer. We ended up sitting on the dock, looking out over the lake. Birds sang in the distance as they hopped from tree to tree, a faint breeze weaved its way across the water, tenderly rippling the surface. It was all so peaceful, so calm. For a few minutes everything was back to normal.

It was one of those moments where we shared nothing but the seconds that ticked between us and the view that stretched before us. Yet, once it was over, we were closer.

Hey, there's nothing like surviving universal decimation to bring people together.

Or tear them apart - still no news.

* * *

12 May 2018

Hey Tom.

Ever been on the wrong end of a drunken tirade from a bitter racoon?

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say no.

I walked in on Rocket and Thor in the common area, helping themselves to whatever alcohol they could reach.

He had his paws on my vodka. And it's not like I go for the cheap stuff. Pure Russian quality. Top of the range, even Cap could probably get a kick off this, sort of stuff. And I probably would have left him well enough alone (okay, maybe not), but he was sloshing it around. Huge droplets splashing across the coffee table they were using to line their earlier shots up. Hefty drips soaking into the carpet and when Thor slapped him on the back, thunderously false laughter booming across the space, near enough the whole glass leapt free and sploshed everywhere.

"Think you've had enough, Meeko. Hand that over," I stormed up to them and took the bottle without waiting for an answer while secretly pleased Stark wasn't there to pick up on my Disney reference. Coop was a bad influence.

The rage I felt was disproportionate to what was happening, I knew that. Didn't mean I wanted to do anything about it though. First he takes up Clint's quarters and then he touches my stuff. Thor had the decency to look a little ashamed and tried to sidle away.

"Hey, space pirate. Look who's decided to crawl out from behind her desk and join the rest of us in this shitty reality. Finally doing the sensible thing and giving up?" He spat out, trying to nudge Thor with his elbow only to find the god abandoned him, "coward."

"Just stay away from my stuff you overgrown rat."

"Or what? Black Order wannabe."

"Or I'll tear out your sorry excuse for a spine, stuff you full of wool and donate you to the daycare furthest away from here."

"Hah! I'd like to see you try you-"

I stalked out of the room to a soundtrack of insults and shattering glass.

He found me later on the dock. I liked how calm it was there, especially in the middle of the night. When the sky was clear the moon reflected brilliantly on the surface of the lake. I heard him padding along the wood and eventually his puffs of breath as he hauled himself onto the bench.

"Didn't expect you to find you out here, you know," he said.

"Couldn't quite bring myself to crawl back behind my desk."

He winced.

"Yeah, so, I'm ah, I'm sorry about that. I don't mix well with Terran alcohol."

"Don't sweat it, furball. If I couldn't handle a few drunken jibes I wouldn't be good at my job."

"They say you're a pretty badass spy."

"They're supposed to be saying I'm pretty _and_ badass."

We shared a small laugh and an even smaller smile.

"I'm sorry too, Rocket."

My words fell into the empty night air. But he gave me one of those trademark sideways glances and I knew he'd accepted it. Then he placed a hand over mine, which was resting on the bench.

"Don't give up," he said, craning his neck to look at the moon.

* * *

14 May 2018

Hello again Tom.

I went back to my apartment today. I wish I hadn't.

Steve caught me beating the crap out of a punching bag, in the gym, at three this morning. Knuckles split, the bag and mat stained with red. I hadn't bothered to put any gloves or strapping on.

I only noticed he was there when he grabbed my arms, forcing me to stop. I didn't even spot the blood until that point.

Or feel the pain.

For a moment I wanted to fight him, to hit something that could feel it. Something that wouldn't just passively hang there. But then the next moment, well, the next I just wanted to break down in tears and cling to him for dear life.

I did neither.

The Black Widow does not cry. She does not break down. Nor does she pick a fight for the sake of picking a fight.

That's who I needed to be right then. The Black Widow.

I sucked it up and pushed through. Tucked everything behind an unreadable mask as he lead me over to the benches and looked for the first aid kit. I wanted to slip away and tend to my hands myself, but there was something in his eyes, in his manner, that said he needed this. He needed the distraction, to do something useful, to help someone.

So I forced myself to stay put and listened as he suggested I get off base. That I was the only one who hadn't taken a break since this whole thing started and I could probably do with one. He promised to look after everything and let me know the moment something happened.

"Is that your polite way of saying I look like crap, soldier?"

"It's my way of saying you need to stop being so hard on yourself."

"Maybe you should listen to your own words."

He huffed a breath before dropping his head into his hands, it could have been a faded laugh, it could have been a sigh, it could have been a muffled sob. But when he brought his head back up he looked so lost.

Fun fact: Steve Rogers was twenty-six when he went into the ice. Twenty-fucking-six. When I met him for the first time before the Battle of New York I was twenty-seven. There was just a year between us. We were the youngest. The Avenger Youth.

So how did it all end up on our shoulders?

No wonder he looked so... desolate.

He blinked it back and smiled. "You know, Nat, I miss your red hair."

"What a strange thing to say, Rogers."

"We live in strange times, Romanoff."

I tried to get some sleep. I wanted to forget about the whole numbness of my being and hollowness of his voice. But, as usual, sleep didn't come and I ended up leaving at six. Steve, like always, offered me breakfast and I, like always, turned it down. So then he offered me the jet but if I was getting out of the base then I was doing it properly.

I took my bike.

The hum of the engine dislodged the dust settled over my mind and the whipping wind blew it all away. It was freedom. Pure and simple and raw. Nothing held me back or held me down, just gave me a chance to shrug everything away. And I took it. I let everything fall, felt the tension ease as the aggressive breeze teased the tension from my shoulders. Pushing away the burden that had nestled so comfortably there. Engine and wind roared in unison, drowning out all thought and clearing away anything that tried to cling desperately on.

I drove without thinking. It was all about reaction and reflex. I felt every bump in the road, every sharp corner, every slight dip. In those moments it was about the present. About forgetting everything else and just... being.

It was good to forget.

But then I came to the more densely populated areas and it was harder to navigate because there was still so much devastation about. Everything I left behind at the compound came rushing back and it felt so much heavier for the absence. The guilt was suffocating.

So much ruin, so much disaster.

Still.

Cars were strewn across the roads, occasionally crashed into buildings, lamp posts or fire hydrants. Bicycles were crumpled beneath the larger vehicles, the twisted frames a grotesque replacement for what else might've been there had their owners not turned to ash. Glass was scattered everywhere, whether that came from the cars or buildings or the street lights. Toys were abandoned in gardens, doors hung open, windows smashed. A few fires still smouldered.

I mean, it's been just over two weeks since the snap and nothing was touched. It felt like riding through a post-apocalyptic world.

Stupid right? Because, it wasn't 'like' a post-apocalyptic world at all. It actually was one. Because we lost. We failed.

Earth's mightiest heroes and we barely even landed a hit on the guy who disappeared half the universe with a click of his fingers.

I pulled over and heaved at the side of the road. Bringing nothing up.

I should have turned back right then, but I didn't. I kept on going. Maybe it was because I was stubborn. Maybe it was because I wanted to punish myself. I don't know.

It didn't matter where I went, it was pretty much the same story everywhere. Sometimes bits of helicopter littered the street, sometimes there was a stench on the air that reminded me not all the victims were dusted.

Few people were out and about, those who were flinched at the sound of my bike. The roar echoed off the surrounding buildings. They watched me go by with haunted eyes. I don't know if they recognised me.

After many detours I found my way to my apartment. I hadn't been there since before the whole Accords debacle and everything was as I left it. That put me on edge.

There should be dust swimming in the air, maybe even a few unsolicited bits of mail strewn across the hallway. But it was clean, it was well cared for. Hell, even the light at the end of the hallway, which hadn't worked for as long as I owned it, sparked to life when I flicked the switch. And what dust there was couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks old.

It was weird being back there. It'd never really been home; that was reserved for one place and one place only. But it held a familiarity, it housed memories and mirrored a life left behind. It was a reminder of the good old days, before Germany.

It didn't take long to solve the mystery of the cleaning culprit. A note was left on my fridge. Looked like it was written a little while ago.

I'm sorry, Red.

\- Your favourite billionaire

Tony.

Tony goddamned Stark.

Of course it was him. Of course he'd send me on the run with a callous remark about my past nipping at my heels, only to track down my New York apartment (which was under an alias), pay for the upkeep and leave an apology waiting for me in case I ever snuck back.

What was he sorry for? I don't know. And maybe I never will, depends if Danvers finds him.

Think I'm gonna frame it, though. It's not often Tony apologises, even rarer for there to be proof.

I was thinking about spending the night. Maybe a change of scenery might help with the whole not sleeping thing I've got going on. And for the first time I had a bit of an appetite. It was probably too much to ask that Tony had someone keep the cupboards stocked, but I looked around wondering if it was a good idea, when my eyes landed on Liho's water bowl.

There was ash.

A small pile around the bowl, a dusting on the rim and there must have been a sprinkle in the water too, it was discoloured.

I don't know how long I spent looking at the remains. By the time I left it was dark and my appetite had once again vanished.

Who dusts a cat?

On the way back to the compound I didn't see much. The focus that seemed so essential on the way in was negligible on the way out. On the odd moment when I did get out of my head I saw kids. Sleeping on the streets, huddled together, stealing food, dodging police.

There were vague stirrings in the back of my head of seeing something similar in Russia.

Others might see chaos.

I saw desperation.

Another consequence of our failure.

It was gone midnight by the time I made it back to the compound. Steve was waiting for me as I parked up. When I threw my helmet against the wall it bounced unsatisfyingly off and rolled away without damage.

Damn it.

So I launched at Steve. Not really knowing what I was gonna do.

We reached for each other at the same time. I pressed my face into his shoulder and clung to him like he was the only thing left. He held me, tightly. Burying his face into my hair. I heard his cracked breaths and, in that, everything he was trying to hold back. We were afraid to let go. Scared the other would disappear.

There were no words. No tears. Just each other.

Two people who couldn't think about living because just surviving was so fucking hard.

So much for hiding behind that Black Widow mask.

I made him a silent promise then, I've locked it away in the back of my mind. He doesn't need to know.

He was all I had left. We've been through too much together for him to fall victim to the Black Widow curse. I won't let anything happen to him. I'll keep him safe.

The world needs Captain America right now. It needs Steve Rogers.

I won't fail him.

I won't let him down.

Not like I did with Clint.

* * *

**A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing, favouriting and following. And thank you so much for the lovely comments from guest reviewers. I really love hearing your feedback, whatever it is :)**

**More Clint in the next chapter, and Steve and Wanda make an appearance (because their house isn't crowded enough already...)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel or anything you might recognise**


	5. Chapter 5

"Nick and Maria are staying the night."

Their given names landed harshly on Clint's ears. The surnames were still more natural to him despite Nat hardly using them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked up at Laura. She was standing in the doorway, hesitant. After the last entry Clint had rushed upstairs to throw up. Heaving like _she_ had at the side of the road, only his stomach wasn't as empty as hers. Every time he thought he was safe to leave, another wave of nausea hit him.

Making up her mind, Laura stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The soft click did little to jar Clint from his stupor, but her gentle perfume floated across the space between them and he found some comfort there. Glad it didn't set him off again.

"I think they want to hear more of what she wrote."

He laughed, unkindly.

"Of course they do. She was running the Avengers and gathering intel while they were gone. They probably think this is the quickest way to get back on track."

"Clint."

A disapproving note clung to her tone. She thought there was more to it than that, fair enough that was probably true. But he had this anger worming its way through his body and he needed an outlet. He needed an enemy.

Because at the moment it felt like that was him.

Almost every entry into the journal she had mentioned him. And though she chose her words carefully and never threw any anger or frustration his way, it was so obvious it was there. And it hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

He knew he was selfish to complain, that it was his own fault. But knowing he couldn't do anything to fix it, _didn't_ do anything, and seeing it right there in front of him. In black and white. In paper and ink. It cut at him, slow stinging paper cuts right to his heart.

The not knowing what to feel didn't help any; all the grief he was trying to stifle, ignore and avoid was bubbling up and each word was a reminder that she was gone. Yet, at the same time, each word kept her alive. They were things she'd never said to him, or anyone. The idea that she had more to say when she could no longer speak. It didn't make sense.

But their lives hadn't made sense for a long time.

"Maria's spoken to Wanda. She'll go to N- umm, Nat's apartment tomorrow and check for Liho. I've said she can bring her here. The kids will like that."

Clint just nodded, not able to say anything else. Nat's words were etched into his mind. The ash scattered around the water bowl.

"Honey, what happened?"

"I was sick."

"Not what I mean and you know it."

"Laura," he started, but didn't know how to finish. So he hung his head and gestured his hands pathetically.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but you'll need to. I can hear it in her words and in your voice. It's not something you can just sweep to one side."

"I know, trust me I know. But I can't talk about it. As in," he spoke over her when she opened her mouth to protest, "I don't know how to _start_."

"You just speak."

"But once I've said it I can't unsay it."

By this point she was directly in front of him. He looked up into her eyes and the concern he found there was limitless. She gave him so much but he couldn't bring himself to give her this part of him. It wouldn't be fair to ask her to stand by his side and share his burden. So, he made do with reaching out to her waist, holding her gently, and resting his forehead against her stomach. One hand rested lightly on his shoulder, the other brushed through his hair.

"Just like you can't undo something already done. Whether or not you tell us about it doesn't change that, Clint. But it is important _who_ we hear it from."

They let the silence settle between them as the words rattled around Clint's head. Each holding their position as one sought comfort and the other gave. In the end he decided it was a question to be answered another day.

"Where are they sleeping?" Clint said, only now truly registering Laura's earlier words.

"Maria's taken the guest room, Nick's on the sofa," she stepped back and a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as she bent down to kiss his forehead, "don't worry, they didn't like the idea of using Nat's room any more than you."

Nat only had that apartment in New York for the sake of having somewhere to escape to when the superhero egos became too much. She didn't personalise it and stocked it with enough for a short stay, though the security around it was spectacular and there were probably enough weapons stashed around the place to arm a small militia. Like she said, it wasn't her home.

Her home was here, with the family. And her room was her safe haven. The one place in the whole world where she could drop the Black Widow persona completely, and be just herself for once.

There were a few times after his breakout from the Raft that he'd seriously considered building another house on their property. They had the land to spare and he couldn't think of a better way to use it than give his best friend a home all her own. When he finally voiced the thought to Laura she just smiled and hugged him.

They decided to start on it as soon as the ankle monitor was off. There were even some blueprints somewhere.

And then the shit hit the fan.

Clint sighed. What was the point in thinking about all of that? 'What ifs' were a waste of time, he needed to deal with the 'what happeneds'.

"You sure Wanda's happy to bring Liho?" He stood to get ready for bed, Laura was already heading to the en suite.

"I didn't speak to her, but Maria said it sounded like she was glad to have something to do. Poor girl."

She stopped talking for a couple of minutes as she brushed her teeth, giving Clint enough time to settle into his pillows and pull himself together.

"A trip out here might be what she needs," Laura continued as she came out of the bathroom, donned her pyjamas and slipped under the covers. "Did you know she's staying round Steve's?"

He did not.

Steve was a good man. Clint knew that. He'd witnessed it firsthand whenever he'd worked with the guy. A little uptight but that was all part of the fun when it came to teasing him. His speeches, though softly spoken, were full of passion, the slow burn kind. The simmering embers that kept you comfortable but still branded you when you get too close.

The man's mere presence infused the air with the image of victory. Making their win seem the only logical conclusion. Yet he stayed humble, tried to avoid the fight where he could and never asked people to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. He lead, but he was a reluctant leader and that is probably what made him uniquely qualified for the job.

And if Clint never experienced any of that, if he'd sat out of all their missions, he'd know all of this anyway simply from the way Nat wrote about him. The care she took to preserve his words, the rage she felt for him at the turn his life took. Running to him when she had no idea what she needed.

Clint didn't have much time to understand what he was feeling at that last thought before he was interrupted.

"Honey."

He turned to look at Laura, who had a serious glint in her eye.

"I'll let you off now, but we really do need to talk about it."

He nodded.

For the first time since he came back from the battle, Clint cried himself to sleep in her arms and didn't dream of Vormir.

* * *

"Do we have to?"

Clint heard Lila's voice as he came down the stairs. Was she moaning about something? Yes she was. Would he ever get tired of hearing her voice? No he wouldn't.

"Yes. Just because we have those journals doesn't mean you get to pause everything," Laura said, her voice measured.

"We'll help," Hill said.

"Help with what?" Clint announced himself by ruffling his eldest's hair and giving Lila a light squeeze on the shoulder.

"Chores," they both pouted.

"Oh no you don't have to do that," Laura said, looking to her husband for support, "you're guests."

"Uh no," he shook his head, "they do have to do that. Years of taking orders from them. Years. And the tables have finally turned."

"Careful Barton, don't let the power go to your head. We know a lot of dangerous people."

"Yeah, like me," he winked at the former deputy-commander.

Breakfast passed by quickly, it wasn't as uncomfortable as dinner the day before and no one mentioned the journals again. Afterwards, Laura and the kids stayed in the house, splitting the chores list between them, while Clint ended up cleaning out the chickens with his guests.

Well, it was supposed to be just him while the agents fixed up some of the fencing around the vegetable garden. But when he went to pick up the eggs the little buggers pecked at him until he cursed and called them names. And while he didn't want to believe in super sentient chickens of evil, he had to seriously consider the possibility when his former bosses walked past to find him huddled in the corner fending off the sharp beaks.

"Told you not to let the power go to your head."

"Yeah, but you said you knew dangerous people. Not crazy-ass chickens - ow!" He popped a finger in his mouth as the latest attack drew blood. He looked around before whispering dramatically, "it's like they understand me."

"You know, it's at times like this," Fury said, looking down on the archer, "that I seriously question what I was thinking when I offered you a place at Shield."

Hill snorted.

"The comic relief, I think, sir."

Both agents smiled as they helped Clint up and shooed the chickens away, taking advantage of the flurry and flutter to grab the eggs. Then it was a bit of improv to get the food out and clean up the bird mess. A childish delight shot through him when he saw Hill suffer the same stinging pecks he did.

"Not that I don't appreciate having more grownups to talk to, but how come you guys are still here? Don't you have some super shadowy plans to hatch? Or are freshly laid chicken eggs part of that?"

Living in the world of deflection meant there was usually a quick answer on the tips of their tongues for such a direct question. So Clint was surprised when he didn't get a reply straight away. He looked up in time to see a silent conversation ending between the two.

"Well, between the three of us," Fury said, looking at the chickens suspiciously, "no clue what you mean by 'shadowy plans'. But we will be leaving for an extended period in the near future. Any affairs we need to sort can be done from here."

"Wow, I think that's the most you've ever shared with me, Nick. I'm touched. Truly."

Fury narrowed his eye at the archer. "Don't call me Nick."

"You let Nat."

"She doesn't get herself cornered by a bunch of flightless birds."

The group stood with plastered smiles falling from their faces. His uncharacteristic slip of the tongue hanging in the air between them as each registered the mistake.

Didn't.

One brave chicken took the opportunity to peck at Maria again.

"Ahh, motherf-"

"Language."

All three of them looked round to find Wanda stood the other side of the enclosure, cat carrier in hand. And behind her was the looming figure of Steve Rogers.

The smile on his face didn't quite reach his eyes. But the attempt was appreciated.

"All these years and you still have a problem with swearing," Fury said.

"Oh no, he doesn't have a problem. He's been swearing across time and space," Clint abandoned the chicken wrangling and strode over to the two new guests, struggling over the fencing. He enveloped Wanda. "How you doing, kid?"

"As you'd expect. You?"

"I've never been good at living up to expectation, so probably below average," he shrugged before looking at the captain and pulling him into a hug.

"I believe your better half is calling us in, Barton," Fury said as he patted Steve on the shoulder, "we'll see you in there."

As Fury and Hill walked away, Liho shifted in her carrier. Nose peeking through the gaps. Clint reached to comfort her but was greeted by a hiss and an attempted swipe.

"You know, I am so sick of all these savage animals. Someone bring me a dog."

"What are those two doing here?" Steve asked as they headed towards the house.

"Brought us some things from the compound. Where are Sam and Bucky?"

"Buck wanted to do what he could to help T'challa and Shuri in Wakanda, after everything they did for him. Sam didn't think it was a good idea for him to be left alone."

"Any word on the others?"

"Rhodey's looking after Pepper and Morgan, Thor's in New Asgard but I think he's going to head off with Nebula, Rocket and those Guardian guys soon. And Bruce, well, Bruce is trying to rebuild To- rebuild the machine."

Clint nodded. Everyone was sort of just, hanging. Five years of looking utter desolation in the face and it was difficult to know what to do when it was replaced with joy. Their biggest wish was fulfilled and all that anger and sadness had no place anymore because the greatest loss any of them had ever faced was reversed and what do you do with yourself after that?

Well, it looked like the Avengers did exactly what they did after the first Snap. They distracted themselves.

Apparently Clint spent so long with the chickens everyone else had not only finished their chores but Laura had finished making lunch. Wanda put Liho's carrier in the living room and unlatched the opening, before heading back into the kitchen to fill up the water bowl and set some cat food down. Liho ignored everything to begin with, probably just to remind everyone she was a cat.

Nate made Wanda sit next to him, he really loved that he was named for her brother. Cooper tried to talk to Steve, but their hearts just weren't in it. Lila ignored everyone, her person wasn't there.

"Daddy," Nate whined after he'd successfully landed more of his food over his face and clothes than in his actual mouth.

"Buddy, you've really got to learn how to eat," Cooper muttered under his breath.

"Yes Nate?"

"Are you going to read more of those stories today?"

Everyone tensed, not really sure if the journals should be mentioned. Wanda flinched when she felt the atmosphere change, almost tangible. Still, she tried to break the tension.

"Err, what stories are you reading? Because I know Harry Potter isn't going to get that kind of reaction."

No one seemed willing to say. In the cold harsh light of day it seemed like such an invasion of privacy there was shame in admitting to it. Fury took one for the team.

"Lang found some of Romanoff's belongings," Steve flinched at the name, "they included journals she kept."

"Hang on," Steve held up a hand before scraping his chair back and standing, "are you reading through her private-"

"Oh stand down, Captain Righteous. As crass as it sounds, privacy is only for the living."

"Yeah," Lila piped up for the first time that afternoon, "and it makes me feel like she's still here."

The soldier was still clearly struggling with the idea of nosing through Nat's belongings, though there was a flash of understanding in his eyes as Lila spoke. He might be a boy scout but he wasn't above temptation.

"You know Nat would do the same if it was any of us," Hill pointed out and Steve almost smiled.

"I guess you're right."

So, when Clint opened the book once again, the cheery persona he'd tried to put on all morning trembling at what was to come, he had two new people in his audience.

"I should probably warn you. It's not exactly happy."

* * *

**15 May 2018**

Yo, Tom.

I seriously don't know why I keep writing in you. Not that I have anything better to do. Just watch the numbers and hope they start ticking down.

I suppose you're a good way to avoid sleep. Whenever I do manage to get a few winks, there's always a nightmare. Always full of ash and dust. Sometimes I'm the only person left.

That's the worst.

But I don't have to deal with it often. Since the Snap I've probably had a grand total of eight hours sleep. Steve and Banner look like they're working on less. I imagine Rhodey's struggling as well. He's taking Sam's loss really hard. Can't really tell though, he's only been back the once since Danvers left.

I wish you were a good way to avoid thinking as well. But then I guess what would be the point of you if that were true. Every time I write something down there's a lot of thinking that happens afterwards.

Which is why I'm here, I guess. I might not want to, but I need to think. For Pepper.

Oh, by the way, she's pregnant.

She ambushed me at the compound. Like Steve, she found me in the gym. Like Steve, I didn't hear her come in. Though this time it was because I had music blaring loud enough to blow my eardrums to bits.

It helps with the thinking you cause.

As in, makes it stop.

She sort of just collapsed in my arms and I had to drag her over to the bench where Steve patched up my hands. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to speak but none of the noises made any sense.

I just gave her my shoulder and she cried on it for close to an hour. She tried again once she was calmed down enough.

"I just really need to tell someone. Someone else, Rhodey knows but he's not here and I needed someone who's a friend, who knows us both. Please."

I'm not going to lie, that took me by surprise. We didn't exactly get on when I was undercover at Stark Industries and I always got a sense that she never more than tolerated me whenever we found ourselves in each other's company. I'd always admired her. It takes a certain kind of person to survive in the testosterone filled world Pepper inhabited, but she didn't just survive, she thrived. In a landscape of backroom deals and corporate sabotage she shone as the strong-willed yet level-headed CEO of the most influential company of the twenty-first century. And she did it all without playing dirty. Now, add the hyperactive man-child that was Tony Stark to the mix and it turns that 'certain kind of person' into an actual living saint.

For her to call someone like me a friend, well that took my emotional stew off the backburner and threatened to bring it to boil.

A lot of things do that lately.

It's annoying.

"You helped him to save himself when we first met and I have no doubt you'll find a way to save him again. And I don't want to add this pressure, but I need to tell him and I can't-"

The tears started haemorrhaging again.

"Hey, let me go find someone for you. Steve, maybe-"

"No!" She was stern, panicked, "I came looking for you. Nat, I need you to find Tony. Please find him. I need to tell him I'm pregnant."

Well shit.

What the fuck do you say to that?

"Please find him," she kept repeating it like some sort of mantra and before I could stop myself, the truth came exploding out. I don't know, people keep sneaking up on me and now I'm spilling the truth without much coaxing. What a sorry excuse for a spy.

"There's something. But I don't want to get your hopes up, that's why we haven't told you."

The look in her eyes almost killed me. That would be typical. Natasha Romanoff, survived Thanos' snap, died by Pepper's glare.

"We found a signal, really far out into the galaxy, that matches his AI. We think it's him, but we don't know for sure. And if it is, we don't know what the situation is."

She just nodded, bringing herself back together. I could almost see the tears rewinding back into her eyes.

"There's a chance?"

I nodded.

"Thank you Nat," she gathered me into a hug and I patted her awkwardly on the back, "thank you for telling me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I understand."

She's asleep on the sofa now. Said she's staying here until we hear something about Tony.

A mixed blessing if I'm honest. At least I can keep an eye on her. But she's somehow managed to get it into her head that practising her mothering skills on me is a good idea. Right now I'm supposed to be asleep and I'm genuinely wondering if she'll try to ground me if she finds I'm awake.

Earlier she was trying to make me eat.

Honestly beginning to understand where Nate's coming from. I've just had one day of someone trying to get me to eat something I don't want and I already want to throw my food everywhere.

Still, a distraction is a distraction. The change of pace was nice and the day went quicker.

But now, as I'm writing, everything's coming back. I see the chaos of the city, smell the decay on the air. Hear the crying of children sleeping on the streets, both parents floating in the air. And I just keep thinking. If it was Clint and Laura snapped away and they were left behind, what would have happened to Cooper and Lila and Nate?

**There's still no sign of Clint. He might as well have been snapped.**

* * *

**16 May 2018**

Hi Tom.

My life is nothing but screens. Blue tinged screens glowing in the dark or shining in the day. On them were faces, some I knew, most I didn't. And when they weren't there they were names.

They used to be people, now they were nothing but code.

It wasn't right. They were so full of life. It felt impossible that they could be wiped away so completely. As much as I might wish otherwise, the screens don't lie. These people were gone. Along with half the animals.

When I could stare at them no longer I switched to the CCTV of the city, well of many cities really, watched over the streets and witnessed the lows people were forced to. No one was looking out for them. Their homes, their city, their country was in a state of disrepair and no one was doing a damn thing about it because they wanted to make sure it was profitable first.

Whenever someone looked straight at the camera I saw the hopelessness there, taking deep root in their soul. The same demon knocking at the doors of the compound, the one whose tendrils were wrapping tightly around Thor, consuming him.

The past and the present was where I spent my days, flicking between the two as if there was anything I could do to change them. There was no time for the future. A future where this was the norm, where this setback became history because we ignored it.

It just couldn't get to that.

We couldn't live in a world where we didn't stare our past in the face and flip it the finger. Where we ignored it and let the devastation rule our lives. It needed to be cleared. People needed to be looked after and they needed a way to live their lives as it was now. Despite how adamant I was it would only be temporary.

Only, where do you start?

Scott's picture pops up often, as does his ex-wife's and her new husband's. I'm sure they had a daughter. I hadn't seen her photo as part of the list. Who was looking after her now? Parker's aunt was gone. Bruce said he was with Tony, if the kid survived his ordeal in space where would he go?

I just can't stop thinking about it. About any of it.

I don't know.

* * *

**17 May 2018**

So, I started spouting off about this in front of Steve and Pepper earlier. I don't know why, I just couldn't hold it back anymore. The silence is just always there like another person, always quiet but breathing heavily down our necks. I've never really minded it that much, but it's just so sinister now.

And d'you know what, Tom? I think I may have started something. I don't know if anything will come of it but it seems to have breathed some life into my housemates, and that has to be worth something, right? Oh, I don't know why I'm asking you. If you start answering back I'm throwing you into the nearest furnace.

But yes, it is worth something. I think. It's a distraction, sure, but it's a hopeful one. And even the smallest spark of hope is worth entertaining in this new, hopeless world we've spent the last few weeks gliding through.

I haven't seen Steve this alive since before Wakanda, hell since even before the split. It's nice. And Pepper, she looks so much positive talking about a project, no matter how pie in the sky it is. For these moments she isn't someone worrying about the person she loves, she's the Pepper of old, determined to pass this test. So I kept it going, I kept fuelling the fire until Bruce joined us, wondering what the chatter was all about. Thor came in too and though he didn't offer much I could tell he appreciated the distraction. For the first time since falling into his pit of overwhelming grief he was willingly clinging onto a lifeline. Even Rocket checked in and though he brought only his usual brand of pessimism it was just for effect. And Rhodey figured he was better off joining us rather than forcing us into the meeting he was sent here to hold.

We all bounced ideas off of each other and for a while, for one small but exceptional moment it was like the best days of the Avengers. Holed up in the tower with Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor and Clint and just talking random shit. Going round and round in circles until our questions and ideas grew so obscure even Thor couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Except this time there was nothing obscure about it. This time we focused on the people around us and their very real problems. The cities in ruins and the governments in disgrace. We listed everything we could think of and proposed any solutions that came to mind. And it was amazing how small minded we all really were as individuals but when we came together as a group how farsighted we could be. After all, the homelessness that applied to the kids I spotted in the city also applied to what was left of the Asgardians - hang on...

...

...

* * *

**18 May 2018**

Well.

Tony's back.

He looks awful. Next to death. So thin. Bruce said he's malnourished, dehydrated, fighting the remnants of an infection. Tony was muttering something about being stabbed and Thanos throwing a moon at him.

This is Tony, who knows if he's serious. But then, it's also the same psychotic alien who called the ground up to bury me alive with nothing but a flick of the wrist. Watching him act like he's okay, like he's not sitting on the threshold of death's door, it just brings it all home. Somehow throws the events of three weeks ago into even sharper relief. He was strong, sharp-witted and unbreakable. The wit was still there, he pretended to be strong. But nothing could cover up how broken he was. And not just physically.

Mentally.

He's tapped out, given up. I can't blame him. After what he's been through, anyone would. And Thor was just watching him, taking it all in, finding another thing to blame himself for. But this one's on me. It's all on me. The Accords, all those years ago. If I could have kept them together, made them see sense. Made them see each other for what they really were and not for the masks they put on. Then maybe things would be different.

Maybe Tony would be whole.

He got into it with Steve, the resentment from a couple of years ago still there. Even though I knew the note from Tony was just for me, I had hoped some of the ill will between them dissipated.

No such luck.

The look on Steve's face broke my heart. He didn't blame Tony for the things he said. No, he accepted them as truth and stored them away in that little box of insecurities he hid deep. Those words would haunt Steve, I could feel it. The damage might look shallow now, but in years to come every time Steve doubted himself, those same words would come out and cut just a little a bit deeper until they were crippling. Just as Steve's lie by omission had wounded Tony.

When Tony collapsed Steve was out of his mind with worry as Bruce ushered him towards the infirmary.

Danvers tried to rush off and go after Thanos without us. We reigned her in and spent the night making plans. This woman, Nebula, came with Tony on the ship. Turns out she's one of Thanos' daughters and wants to see him dead. He killed her sister, Gamora.

I can get on board with hunting the fucker down.

So, I'm heading into space soon.

I've sent Clint a text with the cliff notes - he used to call them 'Clint notes' because that's the type of moron he is - of what's going on. I doubt he'll reply. I hope we find what we're looking for. This growing gulf between us is killing me.

We've always had this ritual before we head out on a mission together. It started out as a way for us to get to know each other, back when I first started with Shield. I sure as hell didn't trust him, certain there was something sinister behind all the kindness he was showing me. He probably didn't trust me all that much either.

We shared a cup of hot chocolate and a truth about ourselves we hadn't told each other before. He told me he was my friend. I said I wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice him for the sake of the mission.

He's not here, so I'll share with you instead. I might not be able to stomach the hot chocolate right now, but I can manage the truth. You're the only one I can admit this to.

I'm scared.

* * *

**19 May 2018**

Hi Tom.

Our space trip is delayed a little. Rocket's ship needs fixing. He keeps moaning about how Tony and Nebula stripped it bare. Not like they really had a choice.

I think he found a few suitable supplies to patch it back up. I don't mind, it gives Clint more time to turn up out of the blue.

There's no way he'd want to miss a chance to head into the stars, but I can't really put off our chance to save everyone for the sake of one man's childhood daydreams.

Maybe he'll get another chance one day. You know, if he doesn't show.

* * *

**20 May 2018**

Hi Tom.

I headed down to the dock for a final moment of peace. Who knows when there'll be another chance. It was already occupied. Rocket was there with Nebula, their heads were hung as words passed between them. I didn't try to stay silent.

Rocket turned when he heard a footstep and beckoned me over when he saw who it was. Nebula stiffened. Guess she wasn't a fan of people.

"I don't want to interrupt," I said.

"We needed?" Rocket grunted.

"No. Maybe. I haven't seen anyone. I just-" I waved towards the view as words failed.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it Goldilocks."

He scooted over a bit but rather than take a seat with them I decided to lay at the edge of the dock, look up at the darkening sky, and skim my hand over the water. I'm not sure why, but it was rejuvenating. It made things feel possible.

Rocket finished his work on the ship early this morning, Danvers was doing a few last minute checks to make sure everything was hunky-dory before we headed out.

I felt Nebula's eyes as she watched my actions. There was a stiffness to her movements and an intensity to her scrutiny. It didn't bother me that she was a daughter of Thanos. You can't help the people who raise you.

It was her mistrust. She was willing to throw her lot in with us because we provided some firepower against her father, but once that mission was complete would she turn on us? According to Rocket her loyalties were questionable. But who am I to judge. People in glass houses and all that.

"I'm sorry about your sister."

She jerked her head to one side, staring at me with those black eyes. It felt like she could see everything.

"I do not want sympathy."

"Okay then, I'm not sorry." I shrugged my shoulders against the ground and looked away. Rocket snickered before I heard him murmur:

"Told you."

I didn't bother to question him, I didn't really care to know.

"I would prefer revenge. Sympathy is useless. It's what got her killed in the first place."

"Wanna elaborate on that?" Rocket said.

"I do not know how my father found her. But he brought her to his ship where he was holding me captive. I hadn't seen her since Ego."

"You mean when you guys pretty much tore a ship apart and threw it at each other? Now that was a waste of parts."

"Strong sisterly love, then?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"We...worked through some things. He brought her to see me. Ebony Maw had... disassembled me and was searching my memories. They used me to get Gamora to reveal the location of the soul stone. She begged him to keep me alive, and he did. But she is dead. I would like to avenge her. Is that not what you do?"

"It's not something we've done well for a long time."

She was blunt, matter-of-fact and truthful. I liked that, it was an injection of something we needed. Plus, she was icy while Rocket was fiery, it was nice to have someone to balance him out.

"What about the others?" I asked, "the Guardians."

"All gone," Rocket said, "met your man on Titan. Turned to dust all around him. Might not have got to that point if our idiot of a captain hadn't punched the purple-headed douche-bag when everyone else was pretty much millimetres away from getting the gauntlet."

"Why'd he do that?"

"He loved her. He keeps losing people he loves. Irresponsible, really," the racoon sighed as he spoke the words, "I never really cared about them being together but if I had any idea it'd cost us half the universe I woulda done more to keep them apart. She coulda done better than a loser Terran anyway."

"Hey!"

"Relax, Blondie. You're alright. Much better than most Terrans."

We spent the next half hour talking about our missing team members. It wasn't easy, but it felt like it was necessary. Their Mantis sounded so much like our Wanda it started to hurt whenever I heard her name. Manipulated, put down all the time, stronger than she thinks.

It only came to a stop when footsteps reached out to us in the dusk. Nebula and Rocket turned to see who was coming and I pulled myself into a sitting position to see Steve make his way towards us, clutching a duffel bag. He gave a polite smile when he realised six pairs of eyes had landed on him.

"Sorry to break up the party," he said as he came round the bench to stand over me.

"I don't see how this is a party."

He smiled something more genuine at the reminder of what felt like a different lifetime. Then he dumped the bag next to me. I unzipped it to find my uniform and batons.

"Danvers has finished inspecting Rocket's handiwork. Time to head out. Better get ready."

I didn't answer him as I traced the suit, lost in thought. Lost in memories that I wished were as fragile as the ash they were full of.

"Nat."

"Hmm?"

"What's up?"

"Oh, just, you know. The last time I wore this - we lost."

"Don't tell me the infamous Black Widow is getting superstitious."

I threw the suit back in the bag before standing up.

"I'm not saying I am, but if something goes wrong today I'm throwing it away."

"Or you could give it to me, if you're not using it. I'm just saying, don't want it to be a waste."

"Not sure it's your style, fur face."

"I was thinking more about the electro-sticks you got there. I could get something good with those."

Steve wasn't listening, he was looking up at the emerging stars. Deep in thought. It was weird to see him without the beard. I'd forgotten how easy he was to read when he wasn't covered by the facial hair.

"What's up?" I threw his earlier question back at him.

"I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," he sighed, "a sick kid from Brooklyn. I never imagined travelling to the moon was possible. But we're just about to go way beyond that. Even after everything, it takes a while to get my head around some things."

I gently rested my shoulder against his arm. I might not be able to relate specifically to his words but I could still understand the sentiment. There was never any inkling that life would end up this way for either of us. And it was insane.

"Careful, Steve, you're gonna make us sound like such tourists."

* * *

**22 May 2018**

The stones...

He destroyed them.

We've failed.

Again.

* * *

A/N: A bit of a long one but I hope you enjoyed! I honestly didn't expect the reaction I've had to this story and just want to say think you to everyone who is reading it. Like I said back when I first started, I have an idea of how I want it to end, but the journey between here and there is vague, so it's one we'll go through together. Though this chapter was pretty firmly in my head from the start, a few relationships have cropped up that I didn't even consider at the start but I think will end up being a joy to write - as much as it can be a joy in the context of what's happening.

And thank you once again for your kinds words, I hope you continue to enjoy the writing and the story. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Marvel or anything else you might recognise


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter does touch upon depression, so just wanted to give a warning ahead of time.**

* * *

**23 May 2018**

I didn't want to write. I don't want to do anything. But if I don't, I'll go insane.

We've all hidden ourselves away.

We don't talk.

We don't even look at each other.

Those words echo in my head. A reminder of the evil that finally beat us.

_I am inevitable._

There was finally a problem we couldn't solve. Our untouchable reputation, frayed since the Accords, was unravelled now. Finally ended.

Nothing lasts forever.

_Trouble._

Sometimes Nick's word would talk over Thanos' final gloat. His deep voice resonating with calm.

Nick the undefeatable.

Nick the unflappable.

Nick the unsaveable.

I wish I knew what he'd do next.

Tony and Pepper left for the tower. They moved under the cover of our grief. Not wanting to bother anyone, not wanting to stir up feelings that would make things worse. They went without saying goodbye. At least, I think that's what they planned. A quiet exit, slip away in the night.

Not counting on insomnia.

I wonder the halls, counting my steps. Feeling my breaths. Begging silently for the numbness to come back. Discovering them with everything packed, slung over their shoulders and across the back of Tony's wheelchair was an accident.

The two of them tried to keep it low key, suffering the grief of knowing their last chance to save everybody was gone while riding the high of new life. New life to be born into a world of ash. There were smiles between them. A lift to the eyes, upturn to the mouth they couldn't help.

Clint had the same affliction when Laura was pregnant with Nate.

What he didn't have, though, was the crushing wave of guilt that landed next second when they remembered the world they lived in now. The only world their new life would ever know.

In the unwelcoming hours of early morning I gave Pepper a nod and squeezed Tony's shoulder as I passed. He reacted quickly, his right hand coming up to cover mine. A look in his eyes most people would say was uncharacteristic but had been there since 2012.

"We'll talk."

It wasn't a question or even a promise. But a certainty. As if he already knew it would happen, and he was just waiting for me to come round to his way of thinking.

They went. I stayed here.

Stuck.

Back at square one, not knowing what to do.

I'm lost, Tom. I'm lost and I don't know how to get back.

* * *

**24 May 2018**

Rhodey and Danvers headed to D.C. today.

The Whitehouse wants a debrief.

Once he's done that Rhodey's going to head out to Stark Tower. He promised to keep an eye on Pepper, Tony's still not exactly in a condition to help anyone.

She emailed me earlier, Pepper. She's made a few enquiries through her contacts. Looks like our scheme is still a go. If I want.

* * *

**24 May 2018 - again**

There are thirty-five potted plants on the ground floor of the complex, alone.

And three-hundred-and-twenty-nine steps throughout the building, including the step down onto the dock.

It takes thirty-three seconds to go from basement to top floor in the lift, without interruption. Two minutes and forty seconds if it stops at every floor.

There's a grand total of four scuff marks throughout the exceptionally clean building. Enough rooms for fifteen people.

But there are only six people, six broken souls shattered and scattered across the rooms.

Jagged people avoiding the shards of others.

I don't know if I was a shard. Or if I was something else. I seemed to float between everyone, or at least the places where everyone was at. I stood by and watched, not quite able to bring myself to interact.

Bruce was easy to watch. He's commandeered one of the glass-fronted offices. Piles of books leaning at a dangerous angle, loose pieces of paper scattered over the table, floor, chairs. Bigger bits were plastered to the walls. Unless absolutely necessary, he kept himself cramped in a corner, hunched over laptop and feeding in the data, crunching whatever numbers he had and trying to figure out whatever project he'd given himself.

Sometimes he'd pace the room, wringing his hands and mutter to himself. I liked to call it his frantic nerd mode.

Even now, seeing such a familiar sight almost brought a ghost of a smile back. But almost wasn't enough.

We catch each other's eye sometimes, he looks away and I let him. Whatever was there is gone. Timing wasn't our strong suit. Maybe in another lifetime things would have been different.

In a lifetime where he didn't do a damn good impression of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. In a lifetime where I wasn't a self-loathing master assassin living on borrowed time.

Or maybe there was no other lifetime. Maybe, no matter what, no matter where and no matter when, this is how things are meant to go.

It was best things worked out this way.

* * *

**25 May 2018**

Fuck you, Barton.

* * *

**25 May 2018 - because the first one hardly counts**

It rained today.

It was nice. Finally we got a view that matched our moods.

The downpour was torrential.

Icy. Biting. Vicious.

It tore through layers of clothing, settling deep, deep within. Big, fat, droplets rolled down my face, through my hair, into my top and trousers and underwear. They blurred my eyes and pelted my cheeks. Hair was knotted and tangled in the wind, whipping my face.

I was on the roof when it started.

Still there when it ended.

Only, at some point Steve appeared by my side, looking into the distance, even though it was heavily covered by the gloom of the weather.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, like always.

I think he was crying. I don't know, really. It was hard to tell.

"There's a towel, blanket and some dry clothes waiting for you inside the door," he said, not looking at me. "Give it a minute and you should come back in."

I grunted, before whispering, "see you in a minute."

He heard. He always did.

I just hoped he didn't see.

* * *

**26 May 2018**

At some point something started ringing throughout the compound.

It was annoying at first, but it became comforting. A reminder of life in this empty world. It rang out in time with my heartbeat.

Rocket and Nebula were working on something, their hammering was what echoed dully. They barely spoke to each other as they carried on tinkering. At first it put me in mind of Tony.

Then a more uncomfortable memory unfurled in a deeper part of my mind. The type of thought that brought me comfort once, but now it was just another bruise of a psyche trapped in a body covered in them.

My best friend getting bored and always finding something to fix. Pulling apart his house over and over again because he was born without the ability to relax and he kept forgetting to top up on his prescription of chill pills.

The thought of him made me angry.

So angry.

* * *

**27 May 2018 - morning**

The rain is familiar now.

Its pitter-patter on the glass sounded like the footsteps of a friend come to visit.

The harshness of it against my skin was refreshing. I savoured the sting.

Again, Steve found me outside, soaked beyond comprehension. He dragged me inside this time.

"Talk to me, Nat."

Water dripped from his blonde hair, it was only as one droplet fell in front of his eyes that I saw the worry. It reminded me, forcefully, of a night long ago when a different blonde haired man stood before me, demanding the same thing.

Minus the nickname.

No one was brave enough to give me one, except him. Even then, it took weeks of dancing around each other.

I blinked up at Steve, reminding myself where I was. When I was. I didn't reply.

"Please."

Before he'd finished I'd pulled my phone out of my pocket and shoved it at him with Clint's message showing. He wiped away the excess water and read.

"Bastard," he mumbled.

"He's blocked my number," my voice was a weak version of itself. Barely even mine.

"Surely you can get around that?"

I blinked again. I could, but that wasn't the point. Steve swore again.

"Who needs him," I shrugged.

We were sat down by this point. In one of the many wide corridors, looking out at the weather. Steve put an arm around my shoulder, ignoring my drenched clothing, and pulled me closer so my head was resting on _his_ shoulder.

"You do."

* * *

**27 May 2018 - evening**

Have you ever seen a god cry?

And I don't mean a few trickling manly tears leaking from his eyes. But actual proper ugly crying where there's just no control over anything. Tears gushing from his bloodshot eye, mixing with the snot streaming from his nose while his whole body trembled under the weight of guilt and grief and quivered on the edge of insanity. Because he genuinely believed he was the one who allowed this to happen, even though he's the only one who stayed on mission.

Our instinct to separate and avoid each other had left Thor alone with his depression. We all told ourselves he needed the space to work through what he was feeling. I thought Bruce might drop in on him but he was so caught up in his project he'd barely had time to take care of himself, let alone a mourning Norse myth. Then he'd dashed off without a word to anybody, research papers stashed haphazardly in a briefcase.

Thor was the only one I hadn't seen since we returned. Something told me to check on him. I should have done it sooner, thinking other people were wasn't an excuse.

The depression had festered, grown like a mould. Entrenched so deep it was almost suffocating to walk into the room.

Before, at least, there was a bit of hope. No one spoke about it but the belief that the stones could undo what they did had settled silently over us, as long as they were around then we had our chance. But they weren't anymore, and neither was Thanos.

With one swish of the axe and a dull thud on the floor this chapter was brought to a close. This tale was ended with a hollow victory.

Thor is broken. So completely I don't know how he'll ever be able to put himself back together. If there's one thing I know, it has to be him that does the fixing. Anything from anyone else is temporary, eventually the cracks will show again and it'll feel worse than before.

Bruce told me vaguely what happened, though he kept a lot of the details to himself I know enough to realise the god lost more than most people could ever imagine - and all in such a short time. While we were all fighting amongst ourselves, he was suffering the worst tragedies of his life.

Probably the only one here who could understand is Steve, but he's locked himself away. I only see him when it rains.

Thor hadn't even bothered with the lock.

When I crept into his quarters I expected him to have hidden under his covers or to have thrown himself into cleaning Stormbreaker or to be breaking whatever was breakable.

No, he was sat on the floor, back against the wall, huddled in on himself. Knees up, head resting on them, hands clasping the back of his head.

He shook.

Violently.

Silent sobs.

I shut the door loudly, letting him know I was there. The last thing he needed was a surprise. He didn't react, kept on crying, didn't look up, but he knew I was there.

His short nails were digging into the back of his head, trying anything to distract from the horrid, twisting, burning inside.

I'd learned the hard way that pain doesn't distract from pain. He needed something else.

My footsteps were soft, gentle. So were my hands when they pulled at his, freeing his head from their desperate clasp. I held both of them in mine as I lowered myself to sit in front him. Keeping his hands in mine, gently running my thumb over the back of them.

He didn't fight.

But he didn't stop either.

That was okay. He needed to get this out. It was toxic. It would destroy him.

I wished the fix was this simple. I wished there was a way this tiny, barely there, piece of comfort was enough to help him. But it wasn't. Still, the path of recovery had to start somewhere.

So I sat there with him, toe to toe, hand in hand, watching his body shake, and remembered what others had done for me when I found myself where he was now.

It had happened precisely twice in my life.

Once after I defected.

Once after I found out the Bartons were gone.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, none of this was his fault. I wanted him to grieve freely without choking on the guilt. But words wouldn't help. They never did when you were this deep.

So I kept him company. Let him grasp tightly, let him cry however he wanted and didn't flinch when he could no longer keep the sobs silent. I tried to be his anchor, the least any of us could do after he'd been ours so often.

My heart was already broken, but he crushed all the pieces into a fine dust.

I didn't like the end of this book.

But then, I was never a fan of endings.

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. As much as I love to read, I never finish my books. I stop reading a couple of chapters from the end. That way, anything could happen.

Anything was still possible because the story hadn't finished.

So, the way I see it, this story isn't over, either. Because I haven't checked out yet, I'm still invested. Anything could happen.

Anything is possible.

* * *

A breeze toyed with the grass, ruffling the blades slightly. Almost teasingly.

The late afternoon sun hung forlornly as clouds gathered around it. Glinting through the trees as much as it could, trying to throw some sunlight on the clearing, no matter how weak.

Clint hadn't meant to end up here, but he wasn't exactly thinking when he started walking. It was like his body wanted to torture his mind, payback for all those times his mind had told his body to shut up and take the physical pain.

Each breath he took tasted like guilt, which was strange because he always thought guilt would taste like rotten eggs.

He walked the circular perimeter of the clearing and when he got bored of that he paced across it. The journal still in his hands from when he rushed out to get some air, not long after Steve had.

This was her favourite place.

It never made sense to him, it was so bloody normal. Nothing stood out about it. But then, she always liked that. Things that blended in. So nondescript your eyes would just skate over it. Except for when it came to transport. Clint supposed that said a lot about her desire to belong somewhere but also to have her freedom, except he wasn't much in the mood for a psychological evaluation of his dead partner.

"Geez, Clint. Twist the knife why don't ya. Yeah, stick it right in there."

He hated the 'D' word. Never before had he balked at saying anything, but now he wanted to ban it and any form of it.

Not that it would bring her back. There's not a fucking thing he could do about that. Or Tony. Reading about their interactions, even if they were small, was something he never realised he didn't want to experience. The feeling in his gut was unique, as if someone had stuck their finger in there and decided to swirl. It hurt and was nauseating and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

On the odd occasion he'd looked up from the precious pages he saw the same thing happening in their eyes. Steve and Wanda had it the worst. Clint wondered if they regretted coming.

There were definitely times when he regretted opening the book. And this was just the first of several. Whether he liked it or not he was going to have to face up to what he'd done. He always knew that, but he wanted it to be in his own time. He wanted to know exactly what to say and how to support his family.

Wasn't going to happen, though, was it? Because of Nat and her big mouth. How is it that in life she was one of the most tight-lipped people to ever walk the earth but in death she was such a snitch.

Serves him right though. Going down that path. Pushing her away. So sure he was right. So certain he could do it without any repercussions.

He remembered sending her that text. And what came after it. Not that he remembered much in those early days apart from the bottom of many bottles. He was drowning in the hurt and he just wanted to get rid of some of it. He wanted someone else to feel what he was feeling and never once did he imagine that he wasn't the only one feeling it.

"Jerk. Selfish jerk," he yelled into the clearing. Almost throwing the book at the nearest tree. Glad he was able to restrain himself. A few birds fluttered from a few branches. He sank to his knees, all too aware that this was yet another circle he was in where he was driven to the ground by the weight of his memory. The weight of actions done and words said. Things that could never be taken back.

That's why he needed to get this right with Laura and the kids. That's why he needed to put it off and think about it. _Really_ think about it.

Yet, Laura was right. There was no point in denying something happened, that much was obvious. Sooner or later they would find out and it would be better coming from him than anyone else.

Would they forgive him? Nat had. She'd forgiven him everything. They'd cleared the air after she picked him up from Japan. But she lived in that morally grey world with him, she understood things worked differently there. That sometimes ideals were nothing but fantasy. Laura knew the world wasn't perfect, knew the world he operated in, but was only ever a visitor. Never a long-term resident.

And the kids. They were kids! He was their dad. It was his duty to be a good role model. To set an example for them to follow. He definitely didn't want them doing what he had.

Clint sighed, breathing a deep, heavy lungful. There was so much he needed to sort out in his life. Was it a good idea to get so caught up in someone else's past?

How would Nat do it?

He always knew she looked to him for how to act. Having never experienced any semblance of a normal life before defecting, she found some situations awkward and considered him her guiding light.

A fact he found hilarious.

So often she'd follow his example without hesitation, taking barely a moment to adapt to what was in front of her.

But one thing he never needed to teach her was taking responsibility. She didn't shy away from it. She knew when she was taking a risk, she knew when she'd endangered people by her actions and decisions. She knew how to put her hands up and say 'my bad'.

It was something he admired about her. There were a lot of things on that list, but this was the first he ever added. He knew the punishments she received when she fucked up in the KGB, so he was impressed she had the resilience, the fortitude, to stand up.

He'd never been good at it.

He wished he could look to her.

Clint looked down at his hand. He clung so tightly to the journal his knuckles were white and the tips of his fingers were aching. When he rested it in his hands it opened up to the page he'd last read. There was another entry, listed the same day. And as he read it he imagined her in her element. A glint in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. A furious mixture of passion and desperation fuelling her hand as she wrote.

* * *

**27 May 2018 - again**

_Trouble, Ms. Romanoff. No matter who wins or loses, trouble still comes around._

Tom, those words are haunting me. I've been trying to figure it out.

Of everything Nick has ever said to me, why is it these words that have stuck?

I think I've got it.

Thanos won.

We lost.

So, it's time to cause some trouble. Cause some trouble until the scales have no choice but to tip back in our favour.

Hope isn't finite. It doesn't just die. You choose to have or you choose not to.

I'm choosing trouble. I'm choosing hope.

Because choosing anything else is giving up.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay on this one guys. Been a bit of a busy week and, in my infinite wisdom, I've decided to take on a couple of other (non-fanfic) projects. Hoping to find time this weekend to write more of this so I won't be late again. It's not quite how I imagined this chapter going, but I wanted to get something out to you, hopefully it's worth the extra wait.**

**As usual, I want to thank everyone who's stopped by and left a review or favourited or followed and just your support in general. I love reading your thoughts on this, whatever they may be. One person (I hope you don't mind me answering here) wondered if Nick and Maria are ever going to reveal that Coulson is alive - my knowledge of Agents of Shield is super limited so it's not something I was planning on tackling. Though, now I am thinking how everyone might react if they just casually slip that in there...**


	7. Chapter 7

**28 May 2018**

I feel like I make progress and then it all unravels.

It unspools like thread. What was once uniform and ordered can never be put back as pristine as it was. Instead it's crumpled, looser around the spool and so things that once wouldn't have bothered me are finding a way to slip through.

And they bring these emotions out, or try to, and it's overwhelming because I'm not used to them. At least, I'm not used to not being able to control them.

I hate not having control. Hate it. Call me a control freak if you want (or if you dare), but through my childhood and teens I never had it. Not in any sense of the word. Not over what I ate, when I slept, how long I slept, when I showered, who I fought, who I killed. It was all decided for me. And I did gain freedom when I defected, but my choices were still governed by others, if not my past.

It puts me in a spin, losing control this much.

But I keep my epiphany from yesterday in mind. And tell myself that things aren't magically going to get better just because I had one. Everything has to come together, and it was up to me to keep hold of all these threads and not lose a single piece.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's to be expected when I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to murder Steve and Bruce.

Yes, it feels like things are unravelling and no matter what I do it's impossible to stop. But I won't be able to get anything done if I don't start looking for positives. The positive from today - despite the rage and the anger and the frustration my two dim-witted friends caused, I refrained from killing them.

Pat on the back for Natasha.

A couple of weeks ago we started talking about having a memorial for Vision. No matter what happens in the future he stays dead, he wasn't part of the snapped and we wouldn't be able to bring him back. Then we thought we might be able to undo what Thanos did and figured we should wait until we'd done so, because there's one person who definitely should be there.

But the thing with the stones went wrong and we ended up back at square one, except it felt so much worse than that. No one spoke about the memorial, I wasn't sure if anyone was even thinking about it because what was pressing down on each of us was so much heavier than all of that.

Cue Steve walking in and interrupting my latest act in my current role of team hypocrite. Chopping vegetables for soup. Not just any soup. It was Thor's soup. Because even though I could barely stomach a single mouthful, I wasn't going to let Thor starve himself. So far I haven't had to resort to pretending the spoon is plane, but the way he looks at the empty bottles of alcohol across his floor has me thinking he might be open to some form of bribery. Only, I'd have to trick him into drinking something non-alcoholic. But that's fine, I'd managed to outwit his brother, the actual God of Mischief once, I could do it for the God of Thunder too.

I wish I could say Steve's sudden talent for popping up everywhere was an improvement in his state of mind. But it wasn't. He had a mask on, was going through the motions, pushing everything to one side and forcing himself to get through it quicker than he should. I was trained to see through the most well-crafted of masks. And his definitely wasn't well-crafted. He was a smaller part of my reasoning for a home-cooked meal. It might do him some good, too. I just hoped he liked soup.

He sat across the island from me and asked if I needed any help, I waved him off. A sigh escaped his lips, just a little puff of air but it was happening more and more lately. As if he was a valve letting some of the pressure off.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Sounds dangerous."

I looked up from my chopping and into his eyes, the usual baby blue stormy instead. He looked as confused as I felt. That wasn't his voice, and it most certainly wasn't mine. Together, we looked towards the door and found Bruce, looking a little sheepish. It was a while since the three of us were in a room together. Silence came back as the scientist sat with us.

So I stabbed at it rhythmically as I sliced and diced more of the veg, ignoring the sweet, fresh smell that made my stomach want to either rumble or heave. I won't lie, I wasn't in the best mood with him. Once again he'd disappeared without telling anyone and he abandoned Thor right when he was vulnerable. Seemed to be turning into a habit.

Except it's not really fair, is it. He didn't know what was going on with Thor when he went. And it's not like he needed to report into us every time he does something. So I pushed the emotion aside, glad that on some small scale I could do this one thing, and looked up with a smirk.

"The wanderer returns. Everything alright?"

"All good," he shrugged, "I'm sure I'll tell you all about it at some point."

I raised an eyebrow it him while trying my best not to look threatening with a knife in my hand. I didn't want to risk the big guy making an unexpected visit.

He shrugged before his eyes darted back to Steve. "You were saying?"

I went back to chopping vegetables.

"We should hold that memorial," Steve said, "for Vision."

It didn't feel right without the others. It was wrong, they should be able to say goodbye and he deserved to have so many people paying their respects. What he did was heroic. Him or the universe and he chose the universe, until time was no longer on his side.

It didn't feel right without Wanda. God, she'd tried so hard to keep him alive.

But time was moving on. The others weren't here. He deserved to be remembered.

I nodded.

Bruce mumbled his agreement before adding; "we should do one for Loki, too."

Steve hesitated.

"Ummm, he destroyed New York."

And that was the spark that lit the fuse we'd all avoided. We didn't spend time together because there was blame in the air. In the privacy of our own thoughts, in the solitude of our isolation, we blamed ourselves. And it was painful, of course it was. The universe was a big thing and resting the fate of it on our shoulders wasn't a task we took up because it was easy. So when we were around each other we tried to ease that pain and make someone else take the burden. Throw the blame at them just so there was a moment's peace. It always made things worse.

"He died fighting Thanos."

"And Coulson died fighting him."

"He was different to the Loki you met."

As they argued I flashed back to Thor, huddled in his room. Grieving so hard he barely knew the days were passing by. His home, his people, his brother. All gone. His father, his mother, his friend. What an empty existence.

Then idly my eyes flicked to Bruce as he listened to Steve. There was real anger in his features. All Bruce, no Hulk.

"You know that, do you? After running away and travelling through space with him."

"Yeah, while you were busy tearing everything apart."

"That's n-"

"Guys."

Calm. Serene. Enticing like deadly waters. Knife shaking in my hand, poised above the board. I didn't need to yell. That was the thing with anger, it was always much more effective when it came on silently.

They knew my anger well.

"Is this really helping? Comparing who did the shittiest thing over the past few years. I mean, if you want a contest I think I got you both beat."

I pointed the knife at Bruce. Still, not even a flicker of green, I vaguely registered how royally fucked we were if Bruce couldn't get control of himself. It's not like the big guy was more useful than the scientist, but there were some things he could do that Bruce just couldn't. And vice versa.

"If I remember correctly, I pushed you over a precipice to force the other guy to come out and you were stuck that way for, what was it, two years?"

I turned the knife on Steve.

"And with you, I betrayed your trust and sided with Tony because I figured it was the best way to keep everyone together. I failed to get either of you to listen so then I betrayed Tony's trust. I joined you in hiding, did everything I could to keep you off the grid and hoped one day I'd get the both of you to see sense. And my failure there was in not seeing how impossible that was. Because Thanos and his children turned up, Tony got stranded in space, and we ended up in this huge steaming pile of shit that we keep trying to throw at each other. And the two of you still can't put your differences aside and talk."

My voice was still even, at least this part of me hadn't crumbled away yet.

"Bruce is right. We should include Loki."

"Nat-"

"I'll never forgive him for what he did to Clint. But this is what Thor needs and Clint's not here, so fuck him."

Steve nodded and I went back to the chopping board. If it sounded louder and harsher than before, no one had the bad sense to comment. I breathed out and added another name to the list.

"Gamora, too. She died standing against her father. She deserves something. Nebula deserves something."

I didn't need to look at them to know they agreed. Nebula had spoken of her, well not quite often but...enough. Enough for us to know she went far too soon.

"And, uh, the others."

I stiffened. His words were so soft and hesitant, like he knew he shouldn't be saying them. So if you knew Steve, why did you say them, huh? Why even go there? And why not back out when I decided to play dumb.

"What others?"

"Everyone else."

I span around and threw my knife. Aiming in his general direction it flew past his head and buried itself in the wall behind.

At least, I imagined it so vividly I could have sworn I'd done it.

I think he could guess what was going through my head because when I looked him in the eye once again, Steve had his hands up.

"No."

"Nat. They deserve it too."

"If they were gone, maybe."

"You saw them disappear, Nat. You saw the gauntlet when we found Thanos."

"They're not gone. We're not memorialising them."

"Nat," it was Bruce this time.

I slammed the knife down on the counter and faced them both properly. With a calmness so surreal and unnatural I had no clue where it came from, I placed my hands, palm down, on the table, looking between the both of them.

They flinched.

"Don't 'Nat' me. There's a way to get them back. There's something else we can do. And I swear to you that I will not rest until we find it. I will _never_ give up. So, no. This memorial. It's for the actual dead. Because I don't believe we can't win this one. We are not losing this."

When I finished I was looking at Steve again. There was pity in his eyes as he took in my words. Mirrored in Bruce's.

I slapped the table and walked away.

"Fuck the both of you," I called over my shoulder as I stalked back to my screens, "and make sure Thor eats."

So yeah, there's some unravelling. Tempers are a bit frayed. But on the positive side, I'm not digging a couple of graves in the woods next to the compound.

* * *

**29 May 2018**

Today I lived for the aches and pains.

And yet, they just didn't do what I wanted.

I found escaping memories particularly difficult during the night, I blame all the talk of the memorial. It meant I was up bright and early to hit the gym.

By up I mean I stopped trying to get to sleep.

By bright and early, it was still dark outside.

Fine by me.

The gym was my refuge. The punching bag my company.

On nights or mornings like this it was almost sacred.

So I devoutly honoured it by peppering hit after hit all over it.

One. Two. Punch.

One. Two. Kick.

I settled into the rhythm, jabbing my fists, swinging my arms. Occasionally I'd dart in with my foot. Then I'd sidle round to a new angle and continued my assault. Breathing evenly. In and out. Never forgetting the routine, the order, the rhythm.

The punch bag never stood a chance.

None of this was normal. None of this settled around me quite right. My entire life was spent jumping from country to country, life to life. Until one I never expected wrapped itself around me and refused to let go. I was trained to move on, to shed these lives like empty shells and start afresh on the next mission. That's why I had no place in the world, because I had to fit in everywhere, had to be willing to fit in everywhere.

And being here just didn't feel right because of it. Even when I was free of the KGB I kept certain aspects of my old way of living. I stepped out from the husk of Natalia Romanova and became Natasha Romanoff, as a spy I had multiple aliases. Multiple lives to live, which I did. I still went from country to country but there were moments in between where I actually got to be myself.

Even so, I had never settled in one place for as long or as often as the compound. Not since the Red Room. And those memories crept up on me, the blood and the screaming and the breaking. They crept up on me along with those of Thanos.

One. Two. Sidestep.

One. Two. Jab.

I stayed focused on the routine. It was what I needed more than anything. The knowing there was something I could go back to, something that felt normal.

With it things were more bearable. It said there was a moment in my day where I didn't have to think about everything that needed thinking about. A time where, if I didn't know any better, everything was back to how it was. I was strong and whole. I was myself. I was the Black Widow and Natasha Romanoff.

In the Red Room you could never be too sure what was around the corner but the one constant was this physical training.

It kept me sane then.

It kept me sane now.

The surety of landing a punch, feeling the shockwave ripple up my arms. The jarring impact whenever I landed a kick and that ache of my legs as I stayed poised at all times. The familiarity of it, the predictability.

It was so good to get lost in.

So I punched. I kicked. I jabbed and swerved. Sweat flying off in arcs as I threw my all into the fight. The bag swung beneath the impact. Doing its part as a half-hearted opponent.

_I used the stones to destroy the stones._

Several swift jabs to the middle of the bag. Hard, destructive. More to me than anything else.

_The universe required correction._

A roundhouse kick on the right, followed by a couple of strategic blows on the left. Holding back. Refusing to let the intrusive memories make me erratic.

_After that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation._

A flurry of furious punches, mixed with accurate, rib-crunching kicks. And I yelled with each hit. Forgetting the time. So totally pissed that the one thing that usually cleared my mind wasn't working.

I grabbed a nearby towel and swiped it over my face. Trying to get back under control. Telling myself I would get him out from beneath my skin. Get him out of my mind. If I could get the Red Room out after years of conditioning I could get the Titan out.

I slapped the towel against the mat and yelled again.

Sometimes fighting just didn't do it.

And that's when I turned back to ballet.

I hated it and loved it in equal measure. It came with so many awful memories, so many things forced on me. It was a painful art form and it drove many of the girls to the edge until they were finally pushed over it by Madame B. But for me it was an escape. It took me from the oppressive walls and put me on stages, swept me away in the glory of getting the dance right. If only in my mind.

I was tired and sweaty, but I didn't have what I wanted. What I needed. I didn't have freedom from that awful voice and those terrible words. Or from the frustration and worry of Clint's disappearance. So I headed to my room and pulled out the pair of ballet slippers I always kept on me. More out of sentimentality than anything practical.

Back in the gym I cleared a space, strapped them on and flexed my feet, testing the movement. It was years since I last did this. Before the Avengers. I never even danced for Lila, no matter how much she begged. I just couldn't bring myself to invite the demons along, the monsters that came with the slippers and the dance. Those thoughts and memories had no place in the Barton household.

But maybe, once she's back, maybe I'll show her.

I bulldozed my way through a couple of practise routines. Blowing away the rust of years. Focusing on how my body felt, how it moved, how I breathed. There were a couple of stumbles to start with but they soon disappeared and it was like I never stopped.

At some point I paused to put music on. I don't remember what piece it was but it was familiar and challenging. I fell into each position as if I'd danced it only yesterday, my back arching and legs twisting. My arms fell about gracefully. Each transition was seamless and I was swept away in the music, forgetting everything. Just letting it disappear so I could focus on this. Just this one thing. This single unimportant thing that felt, right then, as if it was the only thing ever.

I closed my eyes and still landed everything perfectly. The fear of extreme punishment as a child making sure this was branded deep into my mind.

Everything ached and burned. The shoes chafed and my toes were exploding with each bit of pressure put on them. But I pushed on, kept spinning with utmost precision and throwing my whole self and my whole effort into the leaping and twirling and stepping. And it was bliss, because I was free, uncluttered. It was like when I was on my bike heading into the city. At some point I just left it all behind.

Until the end was signalled.

_This is gonna work Steve._

I pushed the words away, the thoughts. Tried to slam the walls back up but more of them came slipping through.

_I know it is. Cos I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't._

Stupid words from stupid people. How can we keep on being so naive? The final swell of the music and I kept going. Urging my body to go harder and faster. The more I ached, the more pain there was, the less I'd be able to hear my thoughts. On the final note, during the final move the text came flashing into my mind.

_You chose wrong. They're gone because you chose wrong._

I stopped when the music did. Breathing deeply, fighting the tears. I couldn't let him get to me. I couldn't act like it was the Clint I knew who sent that. This was a different version of him. A dying, heartbroken version and that's why I needed to find him.

Someone shuffled behind me and I span round to see not only Steve but also Danvers and Nebula. A strange trio.

Thank fuck Rocket wasn't there.

Steve looked a little shell-shocked, his mouth hanging open slightly. I didn't dare look at the almost strangers. I settled onto the floor, scrabbling at the straps, desperate to get the shoes off. It took all of my willpower not to throw them across the room, the text still playing in my head.

"I-uh, I didn't know you danced," Steve finally managed to say.

"I don't."

"But, umm-"

With my shoes off I stood in front him, nowhere near the same height but still threatening enough for the glower in my eyes to be taken seriously.

"Not usually. What do you want?"

"Carol's back," he pointed at her.

"I can see that."

"Uhh, you mentioned before that you had an idea you wanted to talk to her about. Rhodey was supposed to be here but one of his army friends needed to speak to him. Something about gangs."

I looked away from him, turned my back on them even. The anger and shame and guilt was still burning brightly. The order and routine were fading fast, the little comfort they brought slipping away. Reality seeped in.

One hand rested on my hip while my other rested on my forehead.

"Nat?"

"Go to the office. I'll be a minute."

The emotions came so easily and they were so hard to control, so hard to hold back. I wasn't used to this. This helplessness. This is what other people were like. Not me. Never me. This wreck of a woman.

"Okay," he paused, and I could hear the smile creeping across his face, "see you in a minute."

I held back the laugh until he was safely through the door. Those five words did something the punch bag and impromptu dancing session hadn't. They pushed aside all other thought and gave me focus.

* * *

**30 May 2018**

A flock of birds.

They flew above the trees.

I saw them from the common area and ran straight outside. It felt like an age since I last saw so many birds together. Weaving and dipping and diving.

They called out to each other, singing their soft songs. The melody so natural and joyful. True acrobats, they enjoyed the air doing every tumble they could think of.

And then they were gone. Just like that.

To witness such natural grace and beauty, to watch life go on like that. It was a privilege.

* * *

**1 June 2018**

We said goodbye.

Vision is gone. He deserved more than he got. In life and in death.

The sun came out today, which was handy.

It was weak and held no warmth, but it looked nice. Much like the handshake between Tony and Steve when they bumped into each other. The billionaire was back on his feet and looked so much better, but he clung to Pepper the entire time.

The lake reflected the sunlight, sparkling as the wind caused it to move.

Everyone was there. Gathered round. Looking glum. Everyone except Clint.

Nothing cheesy happened. No Chinese lanterns set free to float into the sky, or anything like that. None of the people we were there to remember would have appreciated it.

Sometimes, all we're reduced to in the end is a bunch of words beside a lake, or whatever.

I'm glad Wanda wasn't there. It sounds horrible, I know. But, at least for this, it was good she was gone. That she didn't have to deal with the pain of losing Vision for long. Then I couldn't help but wonder how she'd be once everyone was back. How would she feel returning to life only to remember she'd much rather be dead? The least I could do was be there for her, remind her that there was much to stick around for. Recycle some of the things Clint and I said after Pietro.

It wouldn't be easy, but she's strong enough to get through it.

Tony, Steve, Bruce, Thor and I all said something about Vision. Tony made some sort of joke about how 'Viz' was his and Bruce's brain child and Thor just swooped in to play Doctor Frankenstein.

Then Nebula and Rocket started talking about Gamora. At some point Steve nudged me and mumbled a 'sounds like you' and I gave him a half-hearted smile.

There was some silence before Thor started talking about Loki. I was intrigued to hear about the young god but I just couldn't reign my attention in. The back of my neck was prickling, as if there were eyes on them. When I turned round no one was there. Bruce spoke quietly about the change he saw in Loki. The difference between New York and Sakaar.

And then there was nothing left to say. Or do. Without words we agreed to have a moment's silence. A chance to remember the fallen.

And that's when I started laughing. There wasn't even a chance to try and hide it. And in all honesty I didn't think I was capable of laughing like this anymore. I didn't think any of us were.

All I could think about was Vision and the mortified look when he came and sat with me on the sofa one evening.

"What's up, Vision?" I said, looking up from my paperwork.

"I fear I may have seen something I shouldn't have, Ms. Romanoff. So I dare say my embarrassment levels are up."

I smiled. He acted as British as he sounded.

"You're telling me. You've gone red all over."

"I'm afraid I don't understand. I am always red."

"No I mean. Oh, d'you know what, don't even worry about it. It was just a bad joke."

He opened his mouth to reply but Tony burst in, annoyance and frustration all over his face.

"Hey you, yeah you - Bionic Man," he pointed a finger, "you need to start learning how to use doors. Ever hear of this little thing called knocking, huh? Try it some time."

"Mr Stark, I did not mean to intrude."

"You know, just because you _can_ float through walls doesn't mean you _should_."

I did my best to hide my smirk, I really did, but I just caught sight of a very flustered looking Pepper and couldn't stop it from creeping across my face. Naturally Tony saw it straight away.

"Stop that smirking, Russian Red. Stop it now. What did he tell you, huh?"

"Relax, Stark, he didn't tell me anything."

"So what's with the smirk?"

I shrugged.

"You're telling me enough without even trying."

Tony threw his hands up in the air, muttered something unintelligible and stalked back out of the room, grabbing Pepper's hand.

"Thank you, Ms. Romanoff," he paused, "I have never encountered that before."

"Really? Aren't you, like, hooked up to the internet at all times?"

"Well yes, I've come across mention of it on there and I'm well aware what people do. But never in real life. I'm still not used to how you humans behave."

"Those two just can't keep their hands off each other. You're not the only one who's walked in on them. It's their own fault."

I stopped talking, he'd switched off about halfway through, when Wanda walked past on her way to the kitchen.

"I am just pleased," he shook his head slightly, "that I did not interrupt them later on. Do you need any help with your paperwork."

"No," I shook my head, "but I'd like it if you helped Wanda in the kitchen. I don't want her almost burning it down again. That was not a fun night."

Laughter filled the air as I recounted the story. It floated over the water and danced meekly with the sunlight. Adding a sort of ethereal touch to the afternoon.

Pepper blushed a little at the anecdote. Unsurprisingly, so did Steve. Then more stories were dusted off and given an airing as we said goodbye to our comrades, thanking them for the lighter times they brought to our lives.

* * *

**2 June 2018**

Hi Tom,

I've said it before and I'll say it again.

Fuck you, Clint Barton.

I don't know. I never asked for this, for any of what you gave me. But you forced it on me anyway. Said you'd be there always, every step of the way and the first sign of something difficult and you vanish.

I know, god I know how selfish this sounds. Because it's not just any old difficulty. It's your family. Gone before your very eyes and I can't imagine how difficult that is. Except I can. I can because I was there in Wakanda. I was there at the complex before the Accords.

Each time watching something fall apart.

Those were some pretty big steps and you weren't there. For either. You weren't there.

All I want to do is help. Bring you back, get you through this and find them for you. Find a way to bring them back, whatever it is.

I don't want to see you fall apart. I want to help you keep it together.

So why are you playing these games?

Why block my number then turn up at the compound and not bother to tell any of us you were here?

Why lure me into the trees like some sick fuck?

Does none of what we've been through mean anything to you anymore? New York? Rio? Kiev? Bucharest? What about Budapest? Fuck sake Clint, Budapest.

Maybe I was being naive, but I thought I was a part of your family too. Or is that only when you're feeling generous? Are you kicking me to the kerb because the stray has disappointed you?

This is so far beyond anything the Red Room has ever done. They fucked up my head, sure. But they never crushed my heart like this. Never crushed my soul. Instead they did their best to make me believe I didn't have either. And it was you. It was you, Clint, who showed me they were wrong. Who gave both those things back.

So fuck you. Fuck you for your games.

I knew I felt something at the memorial, Tom. I knew it. Something familiar but also so entirely different. The prickling on the back of my neck.

It was him.

Today, in the midday sun, I saw something in the trees. A shadow skulking through, it looked so much like him but I couldn't believe it was. It had to be my mind projecting. But I saw it again and then I pulled up the CCTV footage and it was definitely there.

He knew I'd see.

There was no way I'd ever miss a potential intruder.

He also knew I'd come out alone.

So I investigated. Came to where I saw the shadow and there was nothing there. Just a trail. Small, so small most people would call it insignificant but years of working together and you just know.

A broken twig here.

A scratch in the tree there.

I followed it all. Desperate to catch him. To talk some sense into him. To bring him home. Before it was too late.

But he wasn't there.

Well, he probably was, somewhere, but he wasn't going to let me see him.

The trail ended when I found an arrow in a tree and a half empty packet of instant hot chocolate nestled in the roots.

The arrowhead was struck through a photo. One from yesterday. The story about Vision. We were all laughing. A brief moment in time where it looked like none of us were weighed down by a single ounce of worry.

"That's hardly fair," I called out.

One moment, one moment against all the others that seemed intent on crushing each and every one of us into a bloody pulp. And he was rubbing it in my face.

I ripped the photo down and looked at the back.

My truth: I'll do what Thanos should have done.

What's yours?

This was the purest thing in my life. This ritual with him. This way of getting to know him. Of opening myself up. It was the purest thing I had even known because it was how I learned to trust. How he made himself my friend.

And he'd twisted it into some sick, distorted version of itself.

My truth, Barton. You really wanna know? My truth is that you have pissed me off, you've pushed me and pushed me and I'm peering over the edge. But I'm not letting you push me any further. Do what you want to me, say what you will. None of it will ever break what we have because I'm too stubborn to let go. You made me care and now you're gonna feel those consequences. I'm in this with you, whether you want me to be or not.

* * *

Each pair of eyes was sharp. Stabbing into him like daggers. Clint could feel the anger flaring off all of them without looking up. Anger and disappointment, both felt as bad as each other.

_Uh oh_. He gulped. _I'm really in trouble now_.

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the lateness of this one too. I did have something for you and when I was going to post, it just didn't feel right. Like it was at the wrong point in the story (it might not seem like it but there is definitely a story of sorts planned!), and I much rather give you the right thing a little later on than the wrong thing on time. So, pulled out this unfinished chapter and did what I could.**

**Don't worry though, the other bit will be making an appearance later :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"What the fuck Clint," Hill.

"Guys-"

"Why dad?" Coop.

"Guys, please-"

"What is wrong with you?" Lila.

"C'mon, stop-"

"What do you mean 'what Thanos should have done'?" Laura.

"Muuuum, it's loud," Nate.

"Too much. Too much at once," Wanda held her head in both her hands and slumped back in her chair, Steve reached out and tried to get her to meet his eyes. Her state went pretty much unnoticed by anyone else as they all unloaded their frustration on Clint. Though it was pretty much all the archer could see. He opened his mouth to shut everyone up but Fury beat him to it.

"Alright, alright. Enough. You've had your say, now chill the fuck out. Have some consideration for the telepaths amongst you and shut the fuck up."

Everyone looked at him then focused on Wanda, her nails were digging into her face as the remnants of the emotional outbursts assaulted her. She was always more susceptible when she wasn't in control of her own emotions. Clint could only imagine how tough a time it was for her. She'd come back but Vision was still dead and now so was her mentor. She was left flailing against the grief without anything truly solid to grip onto because everyone else was crumbling under the pressure of theirs. She was raw, jagged and feeling the same from everyone else was just aggravating her wound. Nat said she wanted to help Wanda through it, wanted to ease her pain. But she'd just added to it.

At least there was one person here with their head screwed on enough to help. Clint was about to say thanks to Fury when the man looked him in the eye with an anger he wasn't used to seeing. It was normally hidden beneath a thin veil of let's-pretend-you're-not-in-the-shit but Clint was being treated to the full unedited version.

"You were her partner," Fury bit out, forcing his voice low.

"Yeah, I know," he didn't really have a right to get angry, he knew that. What he did was a total dick move. But the thing is, he knew that too. He knew he was in the wrong and hated that they didn't think he could see that for himself. To make it worse, he barely even remembered it. In the back of his mind there was something about a photo, but those early days after the Snap he was fuelled only by alcohol and the occasional bit of junk food.

"Really? Because it sure don't seem like it."

"How did you expect me to react, huh? I was hardly in my right mind. It was my family. He took my family."

"And here I was, thinking she was a part of that too," he spat out.

_Tell my family I love them._

_Tell them yourself._

Even then, poised on the edge of their last goodbye, it was 'my' family. Not 'our'. He wracked his brain for a time when he did say, when he did tell her she was one of them. A Barton in all but blood and name. He came up blank.

Didn't she know?

How could she? She didn't even realise they were friends until he pointed it out to her. But she'd grown since then.

Any retort he had for Fury died on his lips. She knew, she had to know. She had to.

"Don't," Wanda's voice was sharp and Clint looked up to see her glaring at the former Director, who in turn was still viciously eyeing Clint. It took a couple of seconds but he heeded Wanda's warning and turned to walk towards the window beside Hill's chair. Staring out of it as if he was still on the bridge of the Helicarrier.

Wanda, for her part, gave Clint a sympathetic look and he realised he hadn't been alone with his thoughts. He tried to keep them back but they were persistent and the more they came through the queasier she looked. It wasn't just the emotional outbursts from everyone causing her state, it was his inner turmoil.

He slipped outside while most everyone was distracted.

* * *

"Mind if I join you?"

Clint had ended up in the clearing again, he was building himself up to going back in. Sure, he wasn't looking forward to facing all that disappointment again, or actually giving some answers. But the thing he least wanted to do was cause Wanda more pain. He'd spent the last half hour trying to reign his thoughts in.

"Do I really get a choice?" He sighed, not bothering to look at the man. This man who was seething with him not even an hour ago. Somehow, while Clint had done whatever he wanted, fuck the consequences, the mere memory of this man's words kept Nat going. He gave her the strength she needed to become the woman she became in those five years. While Clint was one of the reasons it was sapped.

To think words were that powerful. Muttered years ago, not even sounding important at the time, only to come echoing back carrying much more significance. That had happened with them, hadn't it? When they first met. When he put the arrow back in the quiver rather than let it fly into her heart. Back then he knew what was said was important, it tends to be when you're trying to convince one of the top assassins any spy agency has ever seen to defect, but he never would have thought it'd haunt him like this.

_Stop it Clint. Don't go down that rabbit hole_.

"No," Fury said.

"Then by all means, pull up a patch of grass. Make yourself comfortable."

"You're missing the point of my being here, Barton."

"Just choosing not to see it."

"Your wife's worried."

"Funny, you never struck me as the type of person to care about family," Clint huffed a breath and made a show of checking his clearly empty wrist, "and that's two comments about it in just under an hour. She can wait, they all can. I'm not ready yet."

"You never will be."

"Dunno how deep you're trying to go here, but I was just talking about going back into the house."

His old boss sighed and scratched along his jawbone for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. Clint could see it behind his eyes, Fury was figuring him out. If the archer wasn't so battered and bruised by everything that had happened over the last five years, he might have felt an ache at the knowledge that Fury, one of the people who knew him longest and best, no longer understood how to approach him. More proof of what he'd become without his family.

Eventually his guest decided to sit opposite him, making sure to spread the tail of his leather coat out to avoid any hidden mess in the grass soaking into his trousers. For one humiliating moment, Clint thought he was going to recreate the scene between Nat and Thor. It was one thing between the two Avengers, they were going through something that only a handful could truly understand. There was a solidarity between them, between all of the heroes really, that Steve likened to his war days. He said that was the one thing that had never changed over the decades. The familial bond with brothers and sisters in arms.

As long and as well as Fury knew Clint, or had known him, he was the boss man. The puppet master in the shadows picking up a repetitive strain injury by relentlessly pulling all the strings. Who always seemed to know what was going on, no matter where he was. He wasn't the type to get personal or emotional. At least not with his subordinates. Former or otherwise.

So he was glad when the man stretched his legs out in front of him and turned his face into the sun.

"Look, Barton. I see something in you. Always have, otherwise I wouldn't have brought you in. You were a good agent but it wasn't the agent part of you that paid it forward with Romanoff. That was because you're also a good man."

The spy stopped, giving Clint time to take the words in and wonder where he was going.

"I'm not here to give you a pep talk, and I'm damn well not going to be one half of an emotionally charged conversation. I don't do that. And I'm gonna be straight here, I don't think that's what you need."

Fury finally turned his head so he was looking at Clint and for the first time since he'd walked into the clearing their eyes met. Clint couldn't tell what was going on in Fury's mind, but his remaining eye was bright. With what, the archer wasn't so sure.

"Barton. You're a good man. Good men fail sometimes, they don't always make the right decisions. But making the decision doesn't make them good, it just makes them decisive. What makes them good is how they react when they go down the wrong road. We saw how Romanoff reacted and she proved she was a good woman, way beyond anything we could have imagined. But she didn't do it alone. You were there to give her directions, guide her along the way and know her truth.

"I'm guessing she knew your truth and it sounds like she tried to guide _you_ and give _you_ directions but you turned from her. You wasted those five years, you squandered your friendship. But, relationships like yours - those forged on the walk back through hell - are stronger than vibranium. She stayed there for you. Guess why."

Clint just shrugged, his jaw was tight and his throat was going the same way, not really in the mood to talk while his eyes were stinging with the effort of not crying.

"Because you're a good man," Fury said. "That's why she stayed there for you and that is exactly why Laura and your kids will stay by your side. For everything that's going on between you right now, they know who you are and they always will. You went down the wrong path. You weren't ready to turn back before, but you are now. So when Laura tries to guide you, you damn well let her. You go back to being the Clint Barton we all know and tolerate. Or as close to as you can. Because Romanoff died for a chance to bring everybody back, and that included her best friend from five years ago."

Clint wasn't afraid of emotions, they were something he embraced. True, he'd only learnt this after a lifetime of not understanding and avoiding them. But now he wore them proudly, teaching his children there was no shame in crying if they needed to or being proud of themselves for achieving something. So, it's not like he was afraid of crying in front of Fury, he'd done it enough times over the years. It's just that he was sick of it. Sick of the leaking eyes and red cheeks.

"I think you think I'm better than I actually am," he finally whispered, everything pushed back behind a mask.

"What would you say to Romanoff if she'd said that about herself?"

"That she's insane," Clint smiled, knowing he'd just lost a small tussle. "Okay, so say I do this. Say I tell Laura and the kids about my murderous hobbies. How do I carry on without Nat? How do we all carry on?"

Fury froze. It wasn't obvious, even Clint barely managed to catch it but he'd happened to be looking in the right place at the right time. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly and his eyes, usually so busy taking everything in, stilled for a split second. Probably seeing the redhead in some far flung memory.

"You just do, Barton."

He had hoped for something a little more helpful. In Clint's opinion that's exactly what he'd already been doing. Getting on with it because as well as the complete gut-wrenching grief that came with every second, there was the heart-soaring joy of seeing his wife and children and friends again. The very fact he was even able to have this conversation with Fury made him happy because even three months ago he never would have thought it possible. But every time he felt that joy he also felt guilt for being happy when Nat wasn't around. Then, because life's an absolute bitch, he felt guilty for being miserable despite having his family back.

And that meant sometimes he just found it easier to avoid the facts in front of him. Trying to act like none of it happened. But then along came Nat's journals.

Maybe this was how Tony felt when he came home to find out Pepper was pregnant. There was the good and the bad, the sad and the happy. It was impossible not to feel both and he couldn't decide which was worse. He wished he could ask his old teammate how he dealt with it. But Tony had followed Nat on the one-way trip.

He looked down at the journal resting on his leg and thought of the entries since they hunted down Thanos. Her determination shone through. Only, it had been shining through the entire time, but this was the _first_ time she'd embraced it. He sensed a shift in her mindset. She was broken, sure. But she'd been broken before and still managed to get things done. It was just a matter of doing it all over again.

But of all the people and all the words to set her off. It was such a standard Fury saying, he came up with them like most people churn out fly away comments.

"Of all the things to give her hope, it had to be trouble lasting forever. When did you even come up with that one?"

Fury didn't answer straight away, basking in the setting sun. Giving nothing to the archer. It took so long for an answer to come Clint wasn't entirely sure the man had heard.

"That was after Sokovia," he said.

A single bird trilled in a tree above the two men. Either not knowing or not caring it was intruding on a rare moment of sentiment. Clint realised though, and he held his breath, not wanting to disturb his boss. Fury didn't share, that was his basic rule. So the retired spy didn't want to do anything that might stop him.

"Those words were meant to keep her around," Fury spoke again, "keep her in the fight. Not send her to her death nine years later."

"Or a year earlier."

"Don't even try to mess my mind around with time-travel Barton, or I'll mess _you_ up so bad."

They shared a laugh. Trying to settle things down.

"I've lost people, Barton. It's the job. But this one, it hits hard. One of the hardest. We threw her into impossible situation after impossible situation and she always came back. Usually with you in a stretcher."

"Oh c'mon. I wasn't hurt that often."

It was a running joke between him, Fury, Hill and Nat. Coulson too, when he was around. There were times when they'd each bet how quickly he'd get hurt. Nat would start her debriefs by saying 'It was pretty straight forward, Agent Barton came back with just a broken rib'.

"Denial, Barton. Denial."

"Come on in, Fury. The water's warm."

A moment's comfortable silence was all they allowed before jumping back on track.

"I got used to her coming back. No matter the odds, no matter the mission, no matter what she had to do, she always came into my office and updated me. I know she hasn't worked for me for a while but I still expect her to come through my door, telling me where to shove it. That's the thing I have a hard time getting past that. Never again will that happen. Of all the agents that have worked for me, most with much cleaner records than hers, she's the one I'll always regret. And she didn't even die an agent.

"I'm honoured if she found my words worth remembering. But I regret them if she followed them to her death."

"I didn't think you did heart to hearts?" Clint grinned at him, it didn't feel real and didn't sit quite right on his face, but needling the former director was never something he could resist.

"You tell anyone and I will wipe you off the face of this planet."

"No you won't," he said wistfully, "you wouldn't do that to Nat." He sighed internally. Fury might have been the last person he expected to seek him out, but he might've been exactly the person he needed.

"You're right. I wouldn't. But you owe me," Fury eyed him carefully, "I know how every single one of my agents died. They gave their lives in service to their country and because of my orders. The least I can do is honour them in some way. She might not have died under my orders, but she gave so much in service to Shield, she grew so much right in front of us, I'd feel wrong not being able to honour her. Especially if my words played a part."

Clint looked back at him, holding his gaze, which was always intense, probably because it was all channelled through one eye.

"I think your words gave her the strength to get through those five years. If anything, they breathed life into her. I dunno, but yeah. One day, when I'm ready. I'll tell you what happened."

"Thank you."

"How does life without become normal again?"

"It doesn't. I guess. You just get used to it. It's like losing an eye. It's painful, leaves you unbalanced, the world doesn't look the same anymore. An essential part of you is gone. You don't think you can function without it and it leaves a butt-ugly scar. You adapt, because that's the one thing us goddamned human beings are good at. We find ways to survive even if we may not want to. Things will never go back to normal, you will never be the same Clint Barton again. But you will adapt. And you will keep going."

The man's words were a balm on Clint's open wounds. Trickling silkily over the open sores and easing away the pain nestled deeply. For a moment he felt it lifting, ever so slightly. It was easier to breathe and life didn't feel like such a curse. Good memories came sweeping in, brushing away those of Vormir. And something bubbled within him. Something so lively and bright and vibrant and impossible. It was an echo of an earlier time but he was still so pleased to feel it, feel something that was other.

And he smiled, a proper toothy grin. The trademark Hawkeye flicker. Whenever people saw it they _knew_ ridicule was not far behind.

"I'm sorry," he said, "are you comparing my best friend's death to a cat scratching your eye?"

Whatever payback was sure to come his way in the future, was worth it for the single second of dawning realisation. Caught off guard the aging spy wasn't able to cover his reactions quick enough. All the stories Clint had heard of how the eye was lost, this was the one that seemed the most like Fury. A man who stumbled into an alien plot, survived it all, teamed up with a super-powered human, only to lose his eye to a cat.

"Who told you?" The man all but growled at Clint, who barked out a laugh. It felt so real.

"Nat. Oh and I can tell you it was the funniest thing she ever heard. Told me right after picking me up from Tokyo, said she'd been dying to tell me since Carol let it slip."

"Oh I'm gonna get Danvers back good. You know, it's not really a cat, right."

"Hysterics all night," Clint continued as if the other man hadn't said anything, "all those times you said something about it. Like 'the last time you trusted somebody you lost an eye', or 'there's a price for staring evil in the face', and you were talking about a goddamned cat."

He could hear her musical laugh and his gruff one, not that long ago. Saw the sweet agony on her face and laughter crinkling her features and making breathing difficult. She clutched at her ribs while he wiped tears from his eyes and together they tumbled into a world without tragedy and enjoyed each other's company for the first time in a while.

And when he stopped remembering, Clint expected the pain to settle down as uncomfortably as it had before. But it never happened.

He would have to keep this with him, always. This memory, the beauty of it. His very own ward against what lay in the journals.

Fury heaved himself up and once again loomed over the archer, he looked down with his piercing stare, disapproval lingering again now the chat was out the way.

"None of this means I'm happy with what you did. But it's far from the worst thing I've ever heard. It's getting dark, like I said, Laura's worried. Get yourself inside soon."

With that he turned away and headed back towards the house, until he paused. Without turning back he added the last thing Clint ever thought he'd hear.

"Oh and, Barton, I do care about family. Whether you like it or not, you're it and Hill. So was Romanoff. I've already lost one of you so I sure as hell ain't gonna stand by and watch another shit all over the second chance she gave him."

"If I'm family you'll tell me where you and Hill are headed next."

"Classified."

Clint didn't head in right away. In fact, night had fallen while he contemplated the many unexpected words shared between him and Fury. But the memory of what he'd read out gnawed at him until he finally had to head back in and face whatever was waiting for him.

Which happened to be nothing.

All the lights were off and all other humans had made themselves scarce. He suspected that with the two new guests, Fury and Hill had probably elected to stay on the jet.

Maybe he should convert the barn. They weren't really using it for anything. It would make a nice guesthouse.

_C'mon Clint. Fix your family and sort your issues first, _then _think about starting a new project_. He shook his head.

If the house wasn't so silent he wouldn't have noticed the noise coming from the ground floor room. This had been their main guestroom until their favourite redhead came along and claimed it as her own. But he was fine with that, it gave him the perfect excuse to turn the attic into another room. When Laura moaned about the project he said they couldn't have _just_ one guestroom, it was uncivilised.

So, he went on high alert when he realised someone was intruding in her space. He crept down the hallway, not making any noise, avoiding all the creaky floorboards he'd made a mental note of needing to replace. Whoever was in there hadn't bothered to close the door properly, all Clint had to do was push it slightly to find Steve sitting on the floor at the foot of Nat's bed. He couldn't really see much, but from the angle of the soldier's head he was looking at something in his hands. It took a few seconds to realise it was a hoody. One of hers.

The anger threatening to well up subsided, and then disappeared completely when he heard a stifled sniffle. He would let Steve have this, time to himself to grieve. Right now was not a time for anyone to intrude. Plus, Clint's day had already come dangerously close to his emotional limit and there was still one more conversation he needed to have. And, from the sounds of it, his target had made her way down the stairs and was tinkering in the kitchen.

Just as he pulled the door to, a shadow detached itself from the hallway and darted into the room. Liho jumped on Nat's bed without a second thought and settled on one of the pillows. With a pang he realised it was the one on the right. The side Nat favoured.

He left the room behind and instead went for the kitchen. The light was on now and stood beside the kettle, arms folded and slippered foot tapping against the floor, was his beautiful wife. Her dressing gown hung loosely around her, the tie coming undone as she'd pottered. Clint hadn't made a sound but she sensed him and looked up. Her eyes were red, but resolute.

"Laura-"

"Sit down."

She turned as the kettle signalled it was done and busied herself with pouring them a drink. He did as he was told. He might have been one of the original Avengers, but there was only one boss in this house.

"You know, you've really put this family through a lot of crap, Clint," her back was still turned on him as she stirred the contents of the mugs, "and we've put up with it. We haven't asked any questions and I like to think I've always been as understanding as I could.

"I mean, you could hardly help falling under Loki's spell. I get that. Then of course you go after Hydra because, well duh, it's Hydra. But then you run off to Germany, when you're supposed to be retired and you came back a criminal. Still, as mad as I was I got it. They were your team and they needed your help."

She was done sorting out the drinks but still hadn't turned to look at him. Her palms were both laid flat against the table top as she spoke.

"But, God give me strength, I will not tolerate secrets from my husband. Not anymore. Not now I know things were so bad you pushed Nat away. Jesus Christ, Clint. Nat. She was the one person who might've known you better than I do."

Laura took a deep breath and picked up both drinks and Clint could see her eyes again. They were watery, yes, but fierce. The sweet scent reached him just before she placed one of the cups in front of him. He looked from the swirling chocolate to the determined set of his wife's jaw as she spoke again.

"I think we need to have a chat."

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys! **

**Sorry for the delay in this one. I hope you enjoy and as always thank you all for the support. :)**

**I aim to post once a week but I have some projects with deadlines coming up over the next couple of months, this does mean updates will keep on being irregular and maybe not even once a week. I'm _really_ sorry but I promise I'll update as often as I can.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi guys! A little something for you, it's full of talking. Another note at the end.**

* * *

Seconds ticked by, each one marked by the swing of Laura's slippered foot.

The chill of the night crept into the kitchen, making the steaming hot chocolate all the more inviting. But he kept himself from cradling the mug. From feeling the warmth creep into his hands.

Clint didn't want to be comfortable, not while he was saying what needed to be said. Because that was an uncomfortable thing.

He just needed to start talking. That's what Laura had said, right? The night before. _You just start._

So why couldn't he? Why couldn't he open his mouth and confess to her? Just tell her exactly what he'd done.

"Clint, honey," she finally broke the silence, no emotion in her voice, knowing any sort would probably have him running, "chatting usually works when people say something."

He wanted to laugh. Desperately wanted to show her the attempt to break the ice was appreciated. But he couldn't. Because he wanted to hurl. Instead he swallowed the feeling down.

"I know, sweetheart, I just -"

Clint cut himself off, the tingling sensation underneath his tongue coming back. He knew exactly how he wanted to tell her. He liked it when people told him bad news straight out. Bluntness was a good thing because it meant the facts came sooner and emotion was kept at bay. It was how he always tried to deliver bad news.

Though, the older he got the worse he became at it.

Or maybe it was the worse the news got the worse he became.

He didn't even bother to tell Laura and the kids he was bailing on their holiday to go help Steve hash it out with Tony.

Definitely didn't tell Laura Nat was on the other side. That one took her a few months to find out, even then it came from the redhead. Well, by that point the former redhead.

Then, he never stuck around to make sure Nat knew about the rest of the Bartons turning to dust. He knew she'd make her way to the farm and he just couldn't stomach the thought of admitting his family was gone. So he left her to find out by herself.

Wasn't that a shitty thing to do?

That was the start of a five year stint of bad decisions.

The last time he had bad news to give? Well that was the worst news of his life. News he felt sure he would never have to give because, one, he was thirteen years older, two, he was very good at collecting severe injuries, and three, she was very good at avoiding severe injury.

News he couldn't say. Just collapsed to his knees and let his eyes do the talking. Watched as her other best fried finally understood. Saw the storm in his blue eyes as he fell apart inside, behind that leader role he was so good at playing.

News he was forced into confirming when he finally had his family in his arms again, because Lila just couldn't understand why auntie Nat hadn't been right beside him when he came back.

But he couldn't just up and leave Laura to it. Because she was right when she said it mattered who they heard it from. So, he decided not to go for blunt.

"It might sound a little off topic but bear with me, I gotta talk myself into it."

Laura slipped her crossed leg level with her other, so both feet firm against the floor as she leaned forward and grabbed Clint's hand. She was somehow warm as she squeezed, telling him to do what he needed to do and take whatever time he needed. She pulled her hand away, knowing he needed the physical space to work through things to help imagine the mental space.

He relented and grabbed his mug, taking a sip of the scorching liquid. It clashed against his teeth, the temperature change causing a bit of a tinge. His whole mouth burned from the heat but it was good. It focused him. The taste brought him back to all those times he sat with Nat the night before a mission.

This was exactly like that.

Except his marriage might be about to end.

She might take the kids away and he'd never see them again.

And he couldn't even argue with the logic of that because he'd killed so many people. They probably shouldn't grow up under the same roof as a murderer.

"You remember all those vigilantes that popped up in New York?" He asked once the burning had died down enough.

"You mean like Daredevil and Jessica Jones?"

"Yeah, except I was more thinking along the lines of the guy who went on trial for it. Frank Castle."

"Didn't the media call him The Punisher? I remember him."

Clint nodded, almost going for the hot chocolate again but changing his mind last minute so his hand did a weird sort of jerk thing. He caught the faint smile flicker onto Laura's face. She thought his little signs of nervousness were adorable. He doubted she would think that for very much longer.

"Do you remember what he was doing?"

"He was killing bad guys, wiping out street gangs. Clint, what does he have to do with what you're not saying - oh."

Clint flinched as it finally started dawning on her. This wasn't exactly how he wanted her to find out, he wanted to say the words because she deserved that much. Now he was just watching as all the pieces flitted together in her mind, so he did the first thing he could think of, before she said anything else. he gave her the blunt answer.

"I killed people, Laura. I killed so many people."

It came out as a whisper, but given the silence that had fallen over the room since she'd handed him his hot chocolate, it really wasn't hard for her to pick up the words. To her credit she didn't shy away or look at him any differently. Mind you, nothing much really had changed about her, she just continued to look at him. Like she wanted him to carry on.

"I lost my mind. When I turned round and none of you were there, and then Lila was gone too. I just lost my mind and something broke. I had no idea what was going on, I thought it was just us and then the radio was weird. Some of that stations were silent, others were full of panic. I turned the TV on and the news was playing clips of helicopters crashing, cars crashing, people disintegrating. The news anchors wondering if it had anything to do with the ships that were over New York and Scotland, anything to do with the disappearance of Tony or the Secret Avengers returning to America.

"And I realised I didn't know about any of it. We'd spent the whole day outside with each other. Family time, no phones, no gadgets. Just us. Until it was just me. So, then I grabbed my phone and Nat had called and texted about a thousand times. It wasn't even the secure one so I knew whatever had happened it was bad. None of it made any sense, stuff about stones and Wakanda and Bruce and Tony. I mean, of course it all makes sense now, but then. Then it was just gibberish and the only thing I knew for sure was that whatever had taken you away from me was linked to her. And it just made me so angry when her last text, before all the tonnes of calls, was to keep you all close.

"It made me angry because it meant she knew there was something putting all of you in danger. And she failed to stop it."

He breathed in deeply, feeling the tide of emotions threaten to drown him. He could still feel that confusion and anger, it was one of the worst moments of his life. Every time he thought back to it he felt everything afresh. Except now he had the benefit of hindsight and the shitload of regret that came with it.

Regret had a very particular taste to it. Like bile.

So he took another sip of the cooling hot chocolate. Hoping to wash it away. Not quite sure if he succeeded.

"We'll get to Nat later," she said, no sign that she was wheeling from the revelation, "just tell me about this. How? Why?"

When Clint next opened his mouth he did his best to explain everything. He told her he was drunk most of the time at the start and any reasoning he came up with was usually heavily fuelled by alcohol. That in some twisted part of his mind he genuinely thought it was his calling, doing the world a favour, clean things up. As he said it aloud it wasn't lost on him much it sounded almost like Thanos.

He watched the news a lot, in those early days. Saw what organised crime was doing to make the most out of a shit situation. Which included drugs, human trafficking, absorbing the leftovers of other gangs - those whittled too low by the snap to be able to recover. All of that, of course, resulted in gang violence. More severe because territories that would otherwise never be up for grabs were suddenly on the market.

More hurt, more blood, more death.

The whole thing infuriated him. All these people who were vanished without a trace and here were these sorry excuse for human beings causing yet more misery, while the latest wound was still so fresh.

It infected him and intoxicated him as much as the alcohol, until one night he found himself walking the streets. The bow and arrows were too conspicuous so he left them at whatever hovel he was staying in. Plus, he just wanted to beat the crap out of a few of them. Maybe get them to think twice before terrorising others. It didn't take long for him to find them. They tried to shoo him away but in the end they fell easily into attacking mode. And then they just fell easily.

He really did just mean to hurt them, nothing more serious than that. But when the older of the two rushed at him with a knife clasped in his bloody hand, habit kicked in. Because while you can retire the killer you can't retire the killer instinct. In two swift movements he'd disarmed his attacker, in one more the knife slid cleanly between ribs.

A quick death.

An equally quick death when he threw the knife at the other one and it buried itself in his eye. All very Hollywood action movie.

At least he had the good sense to wear gloves.

"I left the knife there," he told her, the heel of his hands pressed against his own eyes. Helping him to envision everything as clearly as possible, "I figured they'd chalk it up to more territorial warfare. As soon as I got back I poured myself a drink, then another and another. My insides were boiling over, knowing there was more of them out there and I just wanted to douse the feeling. It never went away.

"By the time I'd finished the bottle I'd decided I needed a better weapon."

"You mean you decided the way to stop all the extra hurt and blood and death was to cause more of it?"

Clint just shrugged. It didn't make sense, he never pretended it made sense. There were two conscious decisions he'd made in his life where he'd had such clarity he'd never felt anything like it. So certain that the path laying itself before him in his mind was the right one. One of those was choosing not to kill Natasha and convincing her to defect. Except, in the end that blew up in his face because she'd died anyway, with the same look in her eyes she'd had way back then.

The other was deciding to ask Laura out. He'd met her a couple of times before and they got on alright as friends of friends. But then his heart told him he wanted more than that and his brain was inclined to agree. They told him that if he asked her out he wouldn't regret it.

And he hadn't.

Not for one minute.

But it looked like that one was about to go wrong as well.

"Good thing about working for Shield," he carried on, "is you know where all the best weapons are made. I got a sword, drank Hawkeye away and became Ronin."

"The tattoos, your hair?"

"All decisions I made at the bottom of a bottle."

They shared a small smile with each other and Clint's heart leapt at seeing hers. It was too much to hope she wouldn't leave, but he still found himself hoping.

"I started with gangs in America. Taking out what was left of Fisk's crew and a few others. then moved down to Mexico and took on the cartels. From there I just hopped to different countries. Did what I needed to do. What I thought I needed to do. The longer I did it the more I wondered why we were left behind. What marked us as the ones to survive? I was still here, so was Nat. A couple of assassins. Killers. But you, someone who has never harmed a single person, weren't.

"It lasted until Tokyo, where Nat found me thinning the Yakuza herd."

"Jesus Christ, Clint," Laura whispered, "the Yakuza?"

He nodded.

"Do they know it's you?"

He shook his head. The thought had occurred to him a few times since the Time Heist. He was too scared to ask about it, knowing everyone had their own shit to deal with and none of it brought on by themselves. But eventually he had to ask, driven to distraction by the possibility of gang members turning up on his doorstep. Worried every day if Coop and Lila would make it home okay, scared if he lost sight of Nate for one second.

So he'd asked Rhodey, knowing the guy had followed him at Nat's request.

"They don't. Not the gangs. Not the governments."

"How is that possible?" Laura was leaning her elbows on the table now, fingertips massaging her temples. "How?"

"Same way none of the parents at school found out your super top secret chicken casserole recipe."

"Nat?"

"Nat."

When he'd asked, Rhodey didn't scoff at him or tut or even roll his eyes. He just took a deep breath and offered what he could. Yes, the military man had a problem with Clint's hobby, but he also knew Nat wouldn't waste so much time on a lost cause. He told Clint that one of the constant projects Nat had running was not only tracking the archer down but staying ahead of the authorities and criminals, making sure all evidence was wiped away; physically and digitally.

Even after everything he did, the pain he caused her, she watched his back. Always.

"That woman has been a blessing to our family since you first brought her here," Laura said, finally taking her first sip of hot chocolate and almost downing the whole mug. There were tears in her eyes. "Do you really think we're safe?"

"Nothing's ever guaranteed, but you know what she was like. We're as safe as possible."

"Oh Clint, how do we ever get used to not having her here with us?"

There was no answer. A lot of questions and statements didn't have answers anymore. The only way to get them was to live through it, and that meant a lot of pain. A lot of figuring things out and getting things wrong. And all of that was nothing any of them wanted to go through.

All Clint knew for sure was that hindsight was a bitch. It felt like vengeance was the most important thing. But what was actually important is that those five years were the last of Natasha's life.

And he hadn't been there.

Laura looked up at him, the anger gone - though he knew it wasn't disappeared for good. She just knew when to dial it back. And, somehow, she knew where is head was at.

"What happened with you two?" She asked.

"Just me being an idiot," he scraped his chair back and went to stand by the sink so he could look out the window. Not that he can see anything in the dark. "It's just like I said earlier, in my head she was part of the team that lost. She didn't warn me and I just needed something to blame. Something more tangible than magical stones. And I settled on her."

He shouldn't have, they all knew it. He knew it at the time, but he did and he wasted all those years.

"I saw her a few times, you know. It wasn't just before the time travel that we saw each other. But it's not like it was great. We fought, we were silent. We barely spoke, we shared a few things. It wasn't enough. None of it will ever be enough."

Clint had to stop. The tears starting up again and for the first time since she squeezed his hand to encourage him to start talking, Laura reached out to him. Pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead.

"Don't think for one moment this gets you out of trouble," she whispered and he laughed, "I want to hit you, punch you. Shout and ask you what the hell you were thinking. I want to do all of that but what would be the point? You're harder on yourself than anyone could ever be. Why do you think Lila's acting out, honey? She can tell you're different and she doesn't like it. You're punishing yourself for all of this thank you for finally telling me, even if I didn't really give you much of a choice. Don't get me wrong, I'm fuming with you and I can't pretend I understand completely. But I know you. So, we'll sleep on it. Okay? We'll sleep on it and we'll talk some more in the morning."

"Just don't leave me," he tightened his hold on her, just slightly.

"Never, Clint. Never."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the delay, but I've managed to get a couple of deadlines out of the way so managed to put this one together. Thank you for all of your support and comments for this story so far :)**

**For this chapter I appreciate Laura may be taking the news a bit too calmly but it's a lot of information to take in. So it's definitely going to come up again.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello! I hope you all had a great holiday :)**

**Just before we get into this one, I did struggle with this chapter (which is why it's taken so long), there were so many draft versions and figuring out how to finish it. So it might have ended up being more of a filler chapter than anything. But it sort of carries on from the chat Clint and Laura had in the last chapter and this time Laura has more to say.**

**I also wanted to mentioned that it delves ever so slightly into what Clint remembers from Vormir, so it includes mentions of blood and mentions/alludes to Clint's mental state.**

**As always, thank you to everyone who's responded to this story. There's still a long way to go, but I never expected any sort of reaction when I first started writing this and you've all definitely blown me away. **

**Happy New Year!**

* * *

Clint skidded on the leaves, drenched in the morning dew. Waving his arms in the air, he scrabbled at the nearest tree to keep his balance. Fingers and nails digging into the moss and bark.

It hadn't been an easy night.

For that matter, it hadn't been an easy morning.

His fitful sleep was full of flashes of purple and chill air. Memories he wanted to bury down, memories he avoided during the day but was hounded by at night. They tried to creep their way out, now, but he wiped them away on his jogging bottoms along with the dirt from the tree.

When he left the house it was still dark. The birds not even warming up for their dawn chorus. He was left to himself, only the trees witnessed the lonely run of man desperately looking for something familiar to cling to.

But instead of the calm he expected, he was stabbed and jabbed and poked and prodded with every footstep. Attacked by the emotions he used to be the master of. Was getting older weakening his control? Or was it the turmoil of a traumatic few years?

It didn't matter. Either way, when he started running again he was still assaulted by the memories of his dreams. Night time echoes of a nightmare he had lived.

A stone jumped away, his foot catching it. His quick eyes followed its movements as it tumbled over the edge of the raised path.

Then he was back, hanging on the side of that cliff. Not quite sure how he ended up there and not on the alter beneath. Clinging on for dear life. Not his, though. It wasn't meant to be his.

The dip in the path crept up on him in his distraction. He took a wild leap, the sort you'd find in action movies when they have to cross some impossible distance, or if they're running away from an explosion. All things that were pretty commonplace in a job like his. A complete overreaction, but he didn't much fancy twisting his ankle.

As it was, he lost his balance and scraped one of his knees as he landed.

"You really are losing it Barton," he said into the still air, rolling up his trouser leg to see the damage. It wasn't much, the fabric had taken the brunt. But there were a couple of drops of blood forming.

So small.

But still two ruby reminders of all the blood he saw on that planet. The smell of death. All the stuff that should have been flowing through her body splashed across the ground. Bright red soon to fade into the dull rust coloured stains that already painted her grave. Evidence of all those who had come before. The unwilling sacrifices.

Was she the first to go by choice?

A bird trilled nearby, ignorant of his wet cheeks and tightening throat. He wiped the blood from his knee, though not really doing more than smearing it across the broken skin, and he carried on. Determined to finish what he started, despite the slight twinge. He'd suffered worse.

More birds soon joined in and the warmth of the rising sun made itself known. The natural song of the animals around him was beautiful and the morning was everything it should be. But the calmness surrounding him could not ease his mind.

He tried to get out of his head and appreciate what was there. Appreciate what he still had left. He had come so close to never seeing any of it ever again. To not returning.

But she was always good at turning the tables. Doing the unexpected. Doing what needed to be done.

He still wasn't convinced it was the right choice.

She uttered her words to him almost every night. Nothing penetrating the calmness she wrapped them in. Trying to soothe him. Her face relaxed as if they were on any other mission and there was a simple way to get them both out of there. The only hint of it being otherwise was the glint of terror in her eyes. It was tiny but it was there.

She knew death well, more than most. But even she couldn't prepare for what awaited her.

His hands were like thick clumps of ice and his fingers just as bad. He felt her move and couldn't do anything. Saw her fall and couldn't do anything. His eyes burned with the tears that followed her.

Clint had to stop again, this time to catch his breath. To try and get his head back on straight. A run usually did the trick. But then, he'd managed to keep that world separate from this. The life of Ronin away from the life of Clint.

Telling Laura had taken away that sanctuary. The two worlds were crashing into one and that became so apparent last night when he jolted awake in bed as Nat's body broke against the ground.

His hands clasped at his mouth, even half-asleep his brain had reminded him of the full house. Too many people with too many questions. So he kicked and he flailed and he writhed, silently. He had dragged himself away from the desolate planet with its mournful horizon and into his depressed household and its shroud of misery.

The sheets twisted around his legs, holding fast as he tried to free himself from the last remaining clutches of sleep. He couldn't breathe properly, heart beating far quicker than it should, the terror of the memory always worsened by the untold power of imagination. Something in the back of his mind told him the other side of the bed was cold and that had made the panic flare.

He almost flipped himself out of bed until finally there was no more cold. The chill of Vormir receded back into the past as a small, warm hand rested against his shoulder. Telling him to calm.

Laura.

One look at her had told him everything he needed to know. He might be sleeping badly but she hadn't slept. Her mind still chewing over everything he had revealed.

Thinking back on it now, surrounded by trees and wildlife, he should have figured she was struggling. His wife was a fan of sleep. A firm believer of eight hours every night. If she didn't get it she was a self-confessed nightmare the next day. The only time she ever willingly went without it was when there was thinking to be done.

And Clint had interrupted.

Once he was properly awake and no longer being attacked by the bed sheets, she'd padded across the room to settle back onto the windowsill. It wasn't particularly deep, but Laura had the uncanny ability to make the smallest of spaces look welcoming and comfortable.

Loneliness prickled at him, her absence and refusal to look him in the eye the main offenders. It was a feeling that hadn't left, even though they'd spoken it over in whispered words through the night. It was the other reason he was out here. Hoping the solitude would temper the panic rising within.

Yes, she'd said she wouldn't leave. But that didn't mean things wouldn't change between them.

He was an idiot to think she'd be able to rest after everything he'd confessed. He could see that as clearly now as the new sun on the horizon. He might have felt slightly better for owning up to the sins he'd committed but she had yet another burden added to her plate. She wasn't just sharing a house with an assassin anymore, she was sharing it with a murderer.

The difference?

One got a pay cheque.

With the guilt setting in, Clint decided to head for home. She didn't deserve waking up to find he'd abandoned her to a full house. Not when she'd been around to help him get his shit together. He needed to be there for her.

So, this time, as he ran, it was memories of her words that floated after him. Nipping at his heels and reeling him home.

"Did you ever stop to think? To really think?"

It was the first thing she said from the windowsill. There was something in her voice, a tone he didn't recognise. He didn't hear it often, at least not from her.

"No, of course you didn't, it was stupid of me to even ask."

Clint continued putting one foot in front of the other, not sure if he really wanted to replay their conversation from the night before. He tried to focus on the strain of his muscles as they propelled him forward, the burn of his lungs as he kept his breathing even. The air fresh and cold wherever it touched. Mingling with his sweat to cool him down.

It worked for a few seconds here and a few seconds there, but he always ended up sliding back into his thoughts. Almost like it was inevitable.

Inevitable.

Oh how much he hated that fucking word.

"We're partners, Clint," the memory of Laura's voice dragged him from his misplaced anger at a single word in the English language, "married. Husband and wife. We're in everything together. You jump in feet first I'm right behind you. That's how it's always been because we're a team. We promised to share everything with each other, no matter how small or how dark. That was always how this was going to work between us. Because I can tell you, being married to an assassin turned Avenger hasn't exactly been easy."

It was then, as their house came into view through the trees, as he remembered Laura's chiding about his secret-keeping, that he placed the emotion in her voice. It wasn't anger, even though there were occasions when she shook with it.

It was disappointment.

And that hurt more than anything.

He stopped on the outskirts of the trees, hidden in the shadow. There was movement behind the windows, some of the others already up. Would she even want him there? In the end they'd fallen asleep holding each other.

Him whispering apologies into her ear.

Her clutching at the hand resting on her stomach.

Both desperate to make it all go away.

When he'd woken up only a couple of hours later she looked exhausted, even in her sleep. He snuck out, not wanting to wake her, though still risking a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm so angry, you know," her voice reached him from behind and he almost jumped clear out of his skin. When he turned around he found Laura leaning against a tree, a small half-smile playing on her lips.

"I was just on my way back," he said, trying and failing to cover up the fright she gave him, "I was hoping to get back before you woke."

"Not about that, you dummy," she stepped forward and took both his hands in hers, "about what you've done to yourself. My Clint from before would never start such a dark thing. I mean, I know your childhood wasn't great, but you never would have done this. You're a strong man, but there's a sensitivity there that most don't see. But I do. It's both my favourite and least favourite thing about you. With it, you do incredible things like give Russian spies and telepathic witches a second chance. And because of it, when you're at home and switch off your spy side, you beat yourself up over all the things you had to do and all the things you think you could have done better. Knowing that about yourself, how could you have ever started on this rampage? It makes me think that, all along, you expected to be dead by the end of it."

They stared into each other's eyes, neither really knowing what to say next. She'd hit it pretty spot on and they both knew it. And it was Laura who carried on.

"What was going through your head. Did you just not care? Is that it? You just stopped caring?" She closed her eyes against the pain that brought her. He saw the anguish for a moment and it took his breath away.

"Laura-"

"No, don't. Just, be quiet. You've said your bit already. And I'm trying to get my head around it," she took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, "you threw yourself away. The first sign of difficulty you gave up and that isn't the man I know. You go out and you do all that stuff and you don't think about anything else."

"Laura-"

"And then you just go and do it all again. Without a care. Month after month. What were you thinking? I need to know, I need to know the actual thoughts that were going through your head when you decided to do all of that."

"Laura," he said again, taking full advantage of the breath she was forced to take, "I wasn't thinking. I just saw a path and followed it because it was the only thing I saw. I thought that's what I was meant to do and I know forgiving me for taking those lives is more than I deserve-"

"Jesus, Clint," she dropped his hands and grabbed the sides of his face, stopping him from looking away as he tried to do. What he saw there was something he didn't fully understand, "they were bad people. They were doing bad things. Yes, I question your coping mechanism but that's not what worries me. Imagine, for one moment, that we all came back and you weren't here."

Her voice broke on the last word and Clint gathered her up in his arms. Pulling her close so there was no space left between them. Those last words made him feel like complete shit as his stomach lurched and he remembered the freefall before ramming into the side of the mountain. Slender arms wrapped around his body, one going to his belt to make sure he was secure.

Stopping him from achieving exactly what Laura feared.

Something in his silence snagged his wife's attention. She pulled out of his embrace and stepped back ever so slightly, they were still close. But she needed to look him in the eye again.

"What do you need to tell me?" She said, her tone flat as she warred with the emotions running through her, sensing what he was going to say.

"On Vormir," he paused as Laura sucked in a breath. "I'm not talking about all of it. I can't. Not yet. But you should know that it wasn't just that I wouldn't let her make the sacrifice. She wouldn't let me. I jumped off the mountain first, and she followed."

A long silence settled over the two of them and Clint fancied the birds had quietened so they could listen in. He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes and remembered what he could from those empty five years. Birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries, he couldn't even drag himself out of bed on those days, crippled by the grief that tried so hard to drown him. The very definition of pain.

"I survived the Snap, but I didn't live a single day," he said again, "not until Tokyo. Not until she picked me up and brought me back. She came to me with that look and those words and I came crashing back into myself. I woke up and I hated myself for everything I'd done and turned my back on."

Clint blinked a few times, clearing his thoughts. He looked Laura in the eye and despite her anger he knew he'd never be alone again. It made his heart soar.

And knowing the cost of having that certainty also made his heart plummet. Constantly heading in two different directions.

He supposed that's what a broken heart felt like.

"Honey, you turned your back on yourself," she whispered, "on everything and every_one _you had left. But the damage came when you left yourself behind."

She brought a hand to his cheek, a tender touch for a wrenching moment.

"I don't know, maybe these journals will help fix some of that," Clint said.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**

**Hi guys!**

**A_ lot_ has happened in the world over the last few months and we're living in such strange times at the moment. I truly hope you're all staying safe and healthy, and finding a way to keep yourself busy.**

**Below is a bit of a filler chapter - I sort of lost the flow of the story and been trying to get back into it. If you've followed from the start thank you for sticking with it and your patience given the lengthy waits between the last few chapters (and all the talking that seems to be happening in them). If you're new to this story, thank you for committing your time to reading it and I hope you're enjoying.**

**There's another note for you guys at the end.**

* * *

"Who left this pile of goop in the middle of the floor?" Clint yelled after stepping through the back door into the kitchen, holding his foot aloft and inspecting the mess all over his trainers. The meaty smell was an unwelcome visitor to his nose.

"It's cat food," Lila said, cocking an eyebrow in a way that so reminded him of the days before the Snap, she was sat at the table with Steve, who wasn't paying much attention, "and it wasn't in the middle of the floor, it was on a plate out of harm's way until you came along."

"What's going on?" Laura followed in behind him, looking from daughter to husband, afraid that another outburst was on the horizon.

"Apparently I'm just clearing the way of booby-traps for you. Oh, hello," Liho slinked into the room. Still wary of almost everyone there she skirted round the edge, before giving in to her curiosity and inched forward, sniffing out her breakfast decorating Clint's shoe. He, Laura, Lila and Steve all watched on as the black cat tentatively picked bits off and ate.

It was the only interaction he'd really had with the animal since it turned up, so Clint just stayed as still as he could, balanced on one foot. His years of training and field experience finally having a domestic use.

"Umm, guys, care to help?"

Everyone pretended not to hear and found other things that needed their urgent attention in other rooms. All except Steve who was probably the only one who actually hadn't. He was staring at the cat, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips but a storm in his eyes. It was then Clint remembered seeing him in Nat's room the night before, sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed.

He was struck by how close the two of them had grown. He used to tease Nat about it. Of all the people in all the world to guide Captain America through the twenty-first century there was something particularly tickling about it being her.

Yet, he couldn't deny that particular friendship was good for her. It brought her out of her shell in ways he was never able to. But that was the magic of Steve Rogers, he inspired the best in people. No matter who they were.

"Hey Cap, wanna help a colleague out?"

Steve looked at Clint, a hint of confusion fading from his eyes as he took in the scene before him.

"I don't think so, Barton. If she's staying here then the two of you need to get better acquainted."

"And is this how you usually make friends with cats? Let them eat from your shoe?"

"That might be how _you_ do it, but definitely not anyone else."

A flicker of amusement lit up his face for a moment. Only a moment, but it was nice to see. The good captain wasn't out of reach. He was still willing to cling on.

Liho continued to pick her meal from around Clint's shoelaces, taking her sweet time. Almost as if she knew the inconvenience of it all.

"C'mon cat, you can eat faster than that."

She gave him a look and yawned, showing all those pointy teeth.

"You pain in the a-"

Lila yelled something from her room and Nate bolted in. The cat gave the barest of flinches before deciding she'd had her fill and disappeared with an ease Clint was jealous of. He barely had enough time to put his foot on the ground before Nate wrapped his arms around his legs.

"Hey Nate," he picked his youngest up before he could add knocked-to-the-floor-by-a-toddler to his list of morning disasters, it wasn't even eight, "what did you do?"

"Lila angry," the boy said, a hint of a smile hidden beneath the furrowed brow and wrinkled nose.

"Lila's always angry," Clint stage-whispered, close enough he could smell the shampoo still lingering on Nate's hair from the night before, "kinda like a guy I used to know. But you didn't answer my question, little man. What did you do?"

"Got my solider back," he played innocent well, but a spy he was not and a questioning eyebrow from his father was all it took for him to break, "yesterday, she wasn't looking and stepped on him. She said bad words and hid him in her room."

"Okay, but what did _you_ do," Clint prodded him gently in the chest.

"I knocked her music box on the floor. It was on top of the drawers she put my soldier in and she scared me."

"Ah. Well, If I know your sister, and I think I do, you should hide until you're thirty," Clint looked around and caught the faraway look creeping back onto Steve's face. He needed a trusty pair of hands and you couldn't get any trustier than Captain America, right?

"Here, can you look after this little guy for a while," he said to the moping man and handing his son over, glad to see he'd brought him back to reality but tried not to fixate too much on the widened eyes and the poorly concealed panic shimmering within. The guy had jumped on grenades and leapt from tall buildings, but this is what worried him?

The stairs creaked beneath his feet and he added another job to his ever growing list of bits and bobs to do around the house. On the landing he was slightly surprised to see Lila's door open. He knocked on the frame, watching her knelt on the floor besides the pieces of her music box and the scattered bits of jewellery she'd kept safe within, and that bloody cat nuzzling against her leg. There was something in her eyes when she looked up, but she willed it away when she saw him.

"How you doing, Hawkeye?" He kept his voice soft.

"I hate him," she said, just about managing to keep her voice even, though her fingers were digging into the cream carpet.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do, dad. He's always where he isn't supposed to be."

Lila glanced back down at the broken box before jumping to her feet, Liho in hand, and almost throwing herself onto her bed. Not quite sure if he was allowed in, Clint snuck over the threshold, picked up the pieces and went to sit beside her. Treading softly all the way.

"I'm sure I can fix it," he fit a couple of pieces together, "shouldn't be too hard."

"It's just a stupid box. You should probably spend your time fixing other things."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno."

"Lila-"

"Whatever dad, just get out."

"Sweetheart?"

Clint reached out, wanting to pull her into a hug. The way he used to. But she moved away, message clear enough. On his way out he picked up one of the pieces he missed, then made his way back down to the kitchen.

Steve was still there, though Nate was long gone.

"Laura took him," he explained as Clint placed the broken box on the table, "is that Cyrillic?"

In the lid of the box was a short inscription, cut beautifully into the wood. While Clint could speak a little Russian, he couldn't read it.

"Yeah. Nat picked it up for Lila on her little jaunt to Russia after your fun in Washington. Not sure what it says, Lila does, though."

"She can speak Russian?"

"Of course. Can read it too," he smiled at Steve's incredulity, "she grew up on stories of Russia. The culture there, the history. There was no way she wasn't going to learn the language. You know, she's a bit of a history buff. But don't tell her friends that. It's geeky, apparently. Though, I bet she'd get some cool points if it was Captain America who let it slip."

"Can you fix it?"

"Think so, though she might throw it out just because I touched it."

"She'll come round, Clint. You _are_ her dad."

"Exactly, I should know how to get through to her. She's just so mad," he sighed and slumped into the dining chair opposite Steve. "Speaking of, how come you're not all annoyed with me like yesterday?"

"Not gonna pretend I understand what was going on in your head," the soldier said, standing up with a sigh on his lips, "but she never wavered in her loyalty to you. You pushed her away. Frustrated the heck out of her. Did your best to hide. And she never gave up. She stood with you no matter what you did."

"When you put it like that, I sound like a real ass," Clint quipped.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, Nat found a way to forgive you even though it hurt her the most. So I figure I can forgive you too."

Clint found it difficult to swallow, a lump sprung up in his throat at Steve's words. It was helped by the all too familiar prickling in his eyes. His friend had the decency to switch his gaze to the cat slinking her way back into the room and jumping up on the counter to sit in the window.

"I'm glad she had you," Clint said once he was sure he'd composed himself.

As childish as it sounded, Clint was a little jealous Nat had another best friend. For so long he'd been the only person she'd really opened up to, showed her true self to. And then Steve waltzed into their life just as Clint started to take a back seat. Brought on sooner than either expected by the Loki-mind-invasion.

But if he had to lose her to anyone, he couldn't ask for someone better than Captain America. Except perhaps Steve Rogers.

"Did she though?" Steve went to lean against the counter top, absentmindedly fussing Liho who'd come to sniff his elbow, "I wasn't there."

"You were there a hell of a lot more than me."

Another sigh as he covered his eyes. There was something in them. Shame, maybe?

"I thought she was coping. She convinced me she was coping. I always thought I could read her but-"

"Only when she lets you," Clint said, knowing too well the difficulties of figuring out what she was thinking.

"I left. In the end I left. I was the last one there with her and I did it anyway."

Clint stepped over to the bigger guy and clasped his shoulder, doing his best to swallow down the inadequacies that swam up to the surface when he remembered the man in front of him was technically over a century old and still in perfect health.

"You and I both know she would have spoken up if she wanted to. She was never backward about coming forward. You needed to get out of there, Steve, and she knew that too. That building was full of ghosts, only the truly twisted would stay there."

"Nat stayed there," Steve said, bringing his hand back down to rest on the top.

"Case in point," Clint watched as the soldier's lips twitched. He was about to ask why Steve was in her room when Wanda traipsed in. Red swirled in her eyes and there was an edgy set to her frame. She stopped short at the sight of the two men and Clint noticed her close her eyes in an effort to recentre herself.

"Morning," Steve said before Clint could comment, busying himself making coffee for the young woman, "not like you to sleep so late."

"Some of us are loud dreamers," she said, a hint of her Sokovian accent slipping through. Her eyes slid to the archer, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"Oh," he said, mind flicking back to the nightmare, the one that haunted him most, "sorry."

There was a gasp and Steve overegged his strength, breaking the cup in his hand and splashing hot coffee over himself. "Son of a-" he muttered as he hurried to clean the mess and pour a new drink for Wanda. When he turned his eyes jumped between them, caught halfway between despair and curiosity. Wanda winced as she picked up on whatever was going on, before Steve straightened and a calmness spread across his face as he handed her the cup. Clint suspected it was his way of keeping his thoughts and feelings private.

The red was gone from the girl's eyes. Instead there was just sadness. For all of them. And for herself. It occurred to Clint that for most of the time he'd known her, this was often how he found her. Barely keeping it together, desperate for a friend and a way out of the darkness. For a flash of a moment Clint wished he had Wanda's powers so he could gauge the pain she was in. Her list of lost loved ones was piling up and she was still so young. If he could understand how she was feeling then maybe he could help.

He just hoped someone would find a way to help her before she lost control completely.

"Have you been dreaming about Vor - the Time Heist?" Steve asked, struggling to even give voice to the name.

Clint was glad. He hated the name. It filled him full of a poisonous rage, similar to how he felt when he realised his family was gone and not just playing a trick on him. And it looked like the last thing Wanda needed was to feel that.

He nodded. Not trusting his words. And Wanda took Steve's former chair, examining the broken box, for a second the pain of the world lifted from her shoulders, making room for a fond smile.

"What?"

"Nothing, just this quote, it's so Natasha." She sipped on her coffee and silence ruled the kitchen for the first time since Clint stepped in cat food.

"Will you be carrying on through her journals?" Wanda said, breaking the quiet with her gentle question, a small strand of hope in her otherwise steady voice.

Clint nodded.

"That's, uh, that's good," the young woman wrung her hands together, "is it okay if I stay? You know, until you reach the end? Please."

"Of course, Wanda. You're all welcome to stay."

Errant strands of red twisted around and through her fingers, flickering with every breath. He thought she might feel better having asked her question. Apparently not.

"Maybe I should stay on the jet," her voice was small, there were times when he was reminded of the kid who fell in with the wrong robotic crowd. Who just needed a push to stand on her own two feet. But he saw what she did to Thanos, how scared he was of her. It was difficult reconciling them as the same people.

"That's hardly fair, I can stop sleeping, you know. Probably only a matter of time anyway."

"Clint", she smiled, "you forget I lived on the run for two years. Not even all that long ago for me. I think I'll be fine."

She sipped her coffee again and household noises surrounded them. Liho leapt from the counter and sniffed out any stray bits of food that she missed on her first outing.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, Wanda, and the dream."

"You can't help it Clint, most people can't. There's no need to apologise. It's just more difficult, it always is when you're with people grieving someone you know," she paused for a second, twiddling her thumbs and looking at her feet. "Think I might go for a run, might wake me up a bit."

"Since when do you run?"

"Ummm, since you talked me into joining the Avengers."

"Willingly?"

"Yes, it's not a crime. Nat liked going for runs," Steve pointed out

"Yes, but we already established she was twisted."

"Routine is good. Clear's your mind. You should know."

Clint's knee decided to throb as a little reminder that not too long ago he was doing exactly what he was mocking them for. Well, that's fine, he never claimed not to be a hypocrite.

"Don't start without us," Wanda called over her shoulder as they headed out the door.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, slumping back against the seat, feet crossed at the ankles. He let his eyes slide close for just a second and enjoyed the blankness he saw there. The sounds of other people had blurred into a tolerable mumble and he thought that, maybe, he could catch up on a few of those ZZZs he missed out on earlier.

If only there wasn't that tang of cat food in the air. Stupid cat. Something sharp dug into his thigh on its way to the table. Clint cracked an eye open to risk a glance and saw the cat sitting beside him, tail wrapped around its body as it stared at him with those calculating eyes. Almost as if it was saying 'Yeah, I used my claws. What're you going to do about it?'

He sighed. Why couldn't Nat have been a dog person?

He leaned forward, keeping eye contact with the little fuzz ball, ready and willing to answer.

"Look here, what's your face, I don't like you much with your food everywhere, using your claws when you know you don't need to. But you managed to worm your way into Nat's life somehow, you were important to her. And now you're important to my daughter. So I'll put up with you. But no more eating off my shoe, got it?"

Liho kept her gaze on Clint, looking for all intents and purposes as if she was going to ignore him. Then she blinked, lowered her head slightly and lazily raised a paw to lick.

"Good. I'm glad we have an agreement."

* * *

**A/N:**

**On my end the situation is causing moods to swing and energy to fall flat. So I just wanted to say to everyone out there who's stuck indoors and beginning to feel it, that whether you're feeling anxious or low or your mood changes day by day that it's absolutely normal feel that way. This isn't something we've been through before and our minds and bodies are finding a way to cope. Remember to keep talking to people, reach out for a chat with friends and family when you feel you need it, and even when you don't - because they might need it too.**

**And just keep thinking of what it's going to feel like on the other side of this when you get to see people again.**

**Stay safe x**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi guys,**

**I hope everyone is doing well and staying safe.**

**We're back with Nat in this chapter.**

* * *

**5 June 2018**

Once upon a time there used to be something happening everywhere in this compound.

Now, there's a lot of silence. It sits uneasily. The memories of people and noise filling it up are so fresh the scars are still healing.

Every now and then one bleeds through. A voice floating in the air that shouldn't be there. Well, actually it should. All the voices taken from us should be here. But they're not. Until the past comes a knocking.

I'm beginning to think my late-night vodka sessions aren't a good idea. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Or food.

Conversations used to be so numerous. The gentle murmur of other people and the ease of stumbling in and out of discussions were things I'd never considered a luxury before. The company of people something I picked up and dropped at will, so used to living an isolated life and still adapting to one where people wanted me around.

And it wasn't necessarily conversation I was after now. But rather a distraction from the lack of them.

Now, if I wanted to talk, I had to go searching for it, or try and strike something up with Friday.

And Friday was usually the only one who answers.

So, I go to the gym. I punch a few things or run myself into a frustrated exhaustion where I can neither sleep nor do anything else. I put my music on and have it full blast, not caring about anyone else in the building. If someone asked me to turn it down, it was a chat at least.

The problem is, right now, if I hit another thing, I think my knuckles might split deep enough to see bone. And if I were to run it would send me straight towards the memories rather than away from them.

That left music as the only option to quell the restlessness within.

With my ears ringing loud enough to keep past whisperings at bay, I threw myself into my emails.

There were a whole bunch of media requests. The press learned long ago they'd never be able to get hold of Steve and given my much more divisive character they preferred to try me anyway. I cleared all of them away with one click of the delete button and found myself staring at the emails from Pepper I'd dutifully ignored for a few days. There was an unread from Rhodey, which looked to be a quick update. And another from a guy called Wong.

Hearing Tony's side of the story I decided pretty quickly Wong was someone I wanted on my contact list. He alone had access to the inner knowledge on the ancient artefacts housed within the Sanctum Sanctorum, which included the Time Stone, until recently. Even with all the stones gone I figured it wouldn't hurt to try and get a better understanding of the wider world emerging all around me.

He was wary at first, but I think I was getting him on side. I hoped he would trust me with the information. As the most senior sorcerer left, he was wise to be cautious.

There was one form Okoye too, we'd kept in constant contact since the battle. Or as constant as possible. The struggles in America were happening all over the world, and Wakanda had lost its entire royal family. While they were learning how to cope, she was stepping into the void to keep her beloved home from completely collapsing.

I didn't much fancy research, and I wasn't sure I could be of any help to the General right now. So, Pepper it was.

Before we realised Thanos had fucked us over for a second time, I wanted to jump into this project. Clean up the cities and help the children. I was burning with the desire to help.

And now I could barely stomach even reading about it.

People were excited about getting it off the ground, the only person slowing it down was me. Dragging my feet as I fought through this fog. Pepper was taking it all on, doing what she could with what was left of her team. Keeping busy, even though she probably had enough on her plate with looking after Tony and preparing for welcoming new life. My delay definitely wasn't making any of it easier for her.

And yet, something stopped me from committing. Maybe I was scared it meant I was giving up. If I focused on this project, would I be able to carry on searching for a way out of this mess?

I should say yes. I should get this moving. But every time I went to type it, I froze. Who did I think I was to help children? To work on the post-decimation cleanup. I was trained to lie and kill. I had spent a _lot_ of time doing those two things. Wouldn't I just taint the project?

But if I didn't jump on board with Pepper it could end up with people worse than myself.

In her latest email she'd gently pointed out that if we didn't go ahead with it, the government would take our ideas and source them out to contractors who wouldn't care at all about the human factor, only bothering to think about the numbers and the funding.

Her follow up was to make sure I'd seen it.

I had. Several times. But I was at a loss for words, which was new. So, she got a simple reply.

_I'm still thinking._

* * *

**8 June 2018**

I don't like sitting still Tom.

I can do it, but I don't like it.

You know what I do like? Hitting things.

Real, living things.

The punching bag is alright, but it's not satisfying. It just swings back, listless in the air as it waits for the next hit. But people, they try and be clever. They're a bit more challenging. And there's just something so good about a fist or a foot connecting with them and hearing that 'oof' of surprise or the crunch of bone.

I can have fun with living targets.

So when I heard rumours of a gang taking root in the city, one that enjoyed making its money and reputation in human trafficking, how could I pass it up?

It didn't matter that I was on a self-imposed punching ban, still willing my knuckles to heal. There was a flag in my head that said these fuckers needed taking down. So that's exactly what I was going to do.

I thought I'd be alone in the urge to pummel, bruise and bloody. But Steve was there too. The rage bubbling within him driving him to action. When I bumped into him, or to be more accurate - strategically accidentally came across him, his eyes were haunted. Sleep eluded him as much as me and the frown on his face said we shared the same restlessness. While he preferred peaceful resolutions, he wasn't one to walk away from a fight. And if that fight happened to be against a few scumbags, then all the better.

He didn't need much convincing.

Bruce was drowning himself in books and stacks of paper, throwing complicated formulas up on his whiteboards as if they were the only lifeline he had. Though cold cups of tea dotted his makeshift office it was reassuring to see the food was eaten.

Thor was still holed up in his room. I doubted he would want Steve to see him. He was a 'worthy warrior', a man he enjoyed fighting beside on the battlefield and boasting of his victories to. He didn't want that comradeship to be tainted. It didn't matter that Steve was as broken as he was. With me he didn't get a choice. I let myself in and offered him food, comfort or silent companionship. Nor did he get a choice with Bruce, the worthy worrier. When he was around. It was an unexpected friendship. But it helped them both.

Anyway, the point being, he didn't need another conflict. He needed resolution, and this wasn't about that.

Rhodey wasn't around but given his new position between here and the Whitehouse he probably couldn't come out to play.

I wanted to jump on the bike again. Race ahead of everything, feel it all fall away in the slipstream. But it wasn't quick, and it wasn't quiet.

The Quinjet shot through the night, sleek in the air. Steve and I traded gentle banter and soft words, but they faded into silence. There was no point in trying to make it like before, things were too different now. Whatever happened from here on out, whether we never got our people back or whether it took months, years or decades, things would never be the same again.

He stared hard out the window, eyes eating up everything that came before them. Knuckles growing whiter the harder he clutched the controls. I studied where we were heading, flicking my way through each screen.

Easy for the gang to smuggle people.

Easy for us to take them out.

Anticipation bubbled in the small space and the only thing to keep me in my seat were the tightly fastened buckles.

The river glistened in the moonlight, reflecting the dingy port in its wind-rippled waters. Clouds drifted past, darkening the night ever so slightly as the jet touched down. Unnoticed with help from totally awesome piloting skills (mine, no matter what Steve says) and the high-end tech ever present in our lives (courtesy of Stark) we touched down.

As soon as the jet settled on the ground, I unhooked everything keeping me strapped in and waited for the exit to open.

"Thought you were going to throw that suit away?" Steve asked, coming up from the cockpit.

"Cos of all the bad luck mojo? I did, it's an older one."

"But that looks the same."

He nodded at my jacket, pretending not to see the looseness of it or my suit around my frame. Just as I pretended not to see it on him.

"It is. And it's not something I plan to get rid of," I thought back to its previous owner, a mix of emotions weaving together beneath the surface, emotions I didn't have the capacity to deal with so I shoved them further down as the fresh air from the now open doorway helped clear them away. "Any last-minute motivational speech to share, Cap?"

"Let's go get 'em."

The jet was nestled behind some containers. An industrial warehouse, abandoned by businesses of repute long before the Snap, was our goal. There were only a couple of guards, it was a cinch knocking them out silently and trussing them up like the pigs they are. Our feet were swift over the ground, footsteps nonexistent.

The building loomed large as we split. Me right through the front door and Steve up to the rooftop, because the man loves to make an entrance.

Enough shadows huddled around the entrance to hide my arrival. A few crates towered towards the ceiling and broken machinery filled some of the empty space. Some chains hung from rusty rafters and netting was caught up against the walls. The smell of damp welcomed me.

I crept along until I caught sight of the party that really didn't want any crashers. Three men guarded a group of people, all tied to one another. Even at this distance I could tell the rope was cutting into their skin.

One of the guys was on the phone, no doubt finalising the details of whatever deal he had for his prisoners, his gun on a table beside him. The other two held theirs, circling the people we were there to rescue. Occasionally they'd look elsewhere, just to make sure no one else was about.

I clocked another guy treading a steady pace up and down at the back of the vast room, and a fifth near me, doing the rounds. He was looking towards the entrance when a shadow flickered across a window set high in the walls.

No accident.

Steve was taking every precaution.

When I looked back my eyes settled on those all tied together and I realised for the first time they were children.

Just children.

The rage that had weeks to seep and settle into every pore of my skin and every inch of my bones roared outwards. It inflamed my muscles and sharpened my mind; all I could see were the children and I damn well wasn't going to let them down.

Our last two missions were a bust, losing half the universe then losing the stones. Now was when we were putting a stop to that streak. Now was going to change the tide of things. It had to. These kids needed to get through this.

Plus, if we lost a third one on the trot, I was probably going to need to get rid of the jacket, and I wasn't ready for that yet.

As soon as the fifth guy came close enough, I pulled him into the shadows with me, unbalancing him enough that the gun wasn't effective as either a projectile weapon or one in close combat. My arms wrapped around his neck, a hand covered his mouth and nose and I squeezed the oxygen out of him until he fell unconscious. His legs flailed, but caught nothing, he tried to scratch at my eyes, but I wasn't inexperienced enough to cover that base.

Once he was out, I kicked the gun away and tied his hands and legs. It all took about a minute and happened in relative silence. It would have been quicker to break his neck, but this wasn't about killing, it was about rescuing. And none of the others were any the wiser by the time their colleague was captured, so the extra time didn't matter.

Taking him out felt good. But it wasn't enough. It didn't scratch that itch. It just made me want - no.

It made me need more.

A quick check and the fourth guy was still at the back. Apart from the man on the phone no one was speaking. If I tried to talk to Steve over the comms they'd hear.

Only one thing for it then.

I skulked to the edge of the shadows, leaving it until the last possible moment - hoping my partner saw, hoping he knew from our years of working together what I was about to do.

I stepped out.

"Hey boys, looks like I'm a bit late to the party."

The guy on the phone froze, mouth hanging uselessly open. The two by the prisoners turned and pointed their guns, as did the fourth, running to join the others. They might have gotten away with whatever ring they were running for a while, but nothing they'd done so far suggested they were any sort of intelligent.

"Who the fuck are you?" Phone Guy yelled, going to pull his pistol from its holster only to find it wasn't there.

"Aww, and here I thought my reputation preceded me."

All three with guns advanced while the other patted himself down as if the pistol could have been hidden elsewhere on his body. One of them squinted at me.

"Boss, I think she's that one from the Avengers. Hair's different but it's her."

"Black Mamba or something."

"Ouch, two years out of the limelight and this is what happens," I looked down and shifted my feet a little, "kinda hurts."

"Get the bitch," Phone Guy called as he finally twigged where his weapon was and went for it, "we need this deal."

The other three rushed me, the children started to cry and scream. It only got worse when the window shattered above, and glass flew everywhere. Steve somersaulted down between Phone Guy and his gun. With a crack of knuckles against jaw the enemy flew into the wall.

I didn't have much time to admire the handiwork.

The first one to reach me got a face full of his gun, nose breaking and blood spurting everywhere.

The red spatter was a masterpiece.

As he yelled out, I grabbed his shoulder with both hands and used him as a platform from which to assault one of his friends with a double kick to the face. I landed behind my quarry with the broken nose as his friend became acquainted with the ground, head no doubt spinning from the force.

I pulled my broken-nosed buddy's arms behind him, keeping his body between me and the one man left untouched, who also happened to be pointing a gun my way.

Adrenaline sprinted through my body; blood pumped in my ears. I heard everything. Saw everything. Could even taste their fear in the air as their arrogance swiftly switched to a dawning realisation of how outmatched they were.

It felt so good.

Taking a running leap, Steve knocked the remaining guy to the ground, whose gun skittered away. He tried to fight back but Steve started to pummel on his face.

I stamped down on the inside of my guy's leg and heard a satisfying crack, the sound sweeter than expected, before he screamed. Threw him to one side to deal with the other, who _was _getting over the blows to his head. Just not quick enough.

I feinted a punch to his face, which he blocked, and instead caught him with a knee to his stomach. As he doubled over Broken Nose grabbed me from behind. Looping his arms through mine and clasping his hands on each of my shoulders.

"Get her good," he growled. I felt him tremble, fighting the urge to give his broken leg a reprieve. I jumped up in his grip and threw the weight of my body outwards. The guy, taken by surprise, overbalanced and lost his hold. I gained my footing, aimed a kick at his head before switching legs and hitting the other man in the chest and punching him one, two, three times in the face.

Both writhed on the ground.

Neither put up any resistance as I tied them up.

Steve's guys were taken care of as well. I made my way over to him beside the children.

"Good work, Cap."

"You too, Widow." A small glint in his eye said he had missed being in the midst of action.

He tried to make the children feel safe but none of them seemed to understand what he was saying. As we went around untying them, he did his usual adopting comforting tones, crouching so he was eyelevel and even offering a smile or two. One girl whispered something to another, tears still trickling from her eyes. It sounded like Ukrainian.

So, I took over the talking.

"I count ten of them," Steve said once I was finished.

"Yeah."

"What're you thinking?"

I hesitated before I spoke. It sounded insane in my head. It would only sound worse out loud.

"We should take them to the compound."

"Nat, we should get them back to their family."

"They don't have any," I said, thinking of the emails languishing in my inbox. The things I knew were going to happen were finally before my eyes. "Taken in the Snap."

"Okay," he cleared his throat, "I'll let the police know they have a few more lowlifes for their cells."

I coaxed the kids onto the jet and got them all settled in. They were very good, didn't push any buttons or anything. Steve strolled on and the jet closed up behind him. We set it to autopilot so we could keep one eye on our guests.

"Want to get something to eat?"

"Yeah," Steve paused for a second, "how about shawarma?"

"Careful, say it three times and Tony will appear."

The slight curl of his lip was more relaxed than the others I'd seen recently. Our little jaunt to the docks working out some of the kinks building up from the long days of thinking. Or maybe it's just a temporary balm. Whatever it was, in that moment, it was welcome.

Because behind us we had a jetload of people who could easily have disappeared into the world of human trafficking.

Not just any people.

Children.

They were meant to be innocent and looked after. Protected.

And those men planned to take that innocence from them, to throw them into a dark world with no hope or future.

So, every hit was worth it. Even if my knuckles complained.

I'm back at my desk now, the adrenaline is gone but the satisfaction of having done something, having _achieved_ something is still there. As is the very real horror of what those children were facing.

Tom, I have a job to do. I very big job. Yes, it involves doing everything I can to bring those we lost back, but it also includes protecting those left behind.

I need to do what I can to make sure that when half the universe returns, they're coming back to something _worth_ coming back to.

That means keeping Clint out of trouble and finding a way to reach the man I once knew, for the sake of Laura and the kids.

That means helping Thor to survive until he's in a state to find himself again.

That means, cleaning up all the physical devastation caused by the Snap.

And that means setting up this organisation with Pepper.

She has an email from waiting to be opened in the morning. Well, later this morning. I hope she's not awake. That woman needs her rest.

* * *

**9 June 2018 - Morning**

Hi Tom,

Incidentally, that also means setting up the Avengers again.

Our little escapade didn't go unnoticed. In fact, the apprehension of players in this particular human trafficking ring caught the eyes of quite a few up in the big house looking for a victory. The guys we picked off weren't nefarious or scheming but they did place a value on their own necks that was at odds with their employer's need for discretion.

Just as they were willing to kidnap and sell people without guilt, they were just as happy to sell_ out_ their boss. Loyalty a distant memory in these times.

Which is why a pompous and longwinded email landed in my inbox not too long after sunrise. It had Rhodey's name attached. It might have been typed by him, but they definitely weren't his words.

Translated from politician to English it said the government wanted the Avengers back. Not as simple as that of course, but it was there. They didn't just want those who'd signed the Accords, they wanted us rogues too.

Which meant there was room for negotiation.

Steve and I might have been forgiven for our sins, but that doesn't mean all was forgotten. The Accords are still there. The measures that Steve chafed against are still in place. But it meant we were in the position we wanted to be in. The one I was aiming for two years ago but was scuppered by the immense stubbornness of Shellhead and Cap, the most combustible duo since oil met flame.

As I thought about it there was this little thrill of excitement that had nothing to do with the promise of hitting people. We could be out there again. Making a difference. Helping people. Doing something.

Fighting side by side like we were supposed to, instead of being at each other's throats. Instead of distancing ourselves from each other.

I'm not saying it would happen straight away, but a step is a step, right? Whatever direction it's in, it had to be better than here.

Steve would take that step. He's as restless as I am. Rhodey would come along too, even if it was forced on him by his higher ups. Maybe Bruce would. Depending on how deep he was in his work. Or even if he felt confident lending a hand while the Big Guy was incommunicado.

Thor? He was a tough one. One of my essential skills for Shield, and even for the Avengers, was profiling people. Figuring what makes them tick and knowing exactly how to get under their skin. Everything screamed that Thor was not ready and wouldn't be for a long time. There had to be another way to get him back with us. Integrating and socialising.

And Tony. Well, I wasn't going to prod that hornet's nest. The man deserved a break. He was on the cusp of getting everything he wanted.

Maybe, if he saw we were still fighting, Clint would come home.

I could recruit a few more, too. It didn't have to be just a domestic operation anymore. We had the means to reach beyond our atmosphere. A galactic network of allies was a very tempting ambition.

And I'm sure it must have belonged to Fury at some point.

If I'm honest, on the run, there were times I struggled to see us coming back into the light. The thought of officially being a part of the team again, allowed to operate in the open, it just felt so farfetched.

A shame it took halving the universe for it to happen.

* * *

**9 June 2018 - Evening**

I thought I was exhausted, Tom.

But then I went and brought ten kids into the compound. Who, for reasons I can't comprehend, think I'm the safest person around.

Anything scares them and they're right here hugging my legs or hiding behind my chair. To be fair, I am the one person who speaks their language.

They were braver at first. Glad to be away from their captors. Giddy at the sudden freedom they found before them and the wide-open space to explore all around.

Then they saw Rocket.

Some were wary, a raccoon balancing on a kitchen countertop and foraging through the cupboards as it muttered to itself isn't exactly something you see everyday (unless he lives with you, of course). The others were fascinated.

For his part, Rocket did try to ignore the attention building up behind him, even when the braver ones started to coo and whistle, as if he were a dog. It was only once one of the younger ones stumbled over to pet him that he raised his hackles and he bared his fangs.

"Wanna keep your little pack of rats under control?" He mumbled on his way out the door.

"Want me to get you a muzzle?" I replied.

It took the better part of an hour to calm them down, they fed off of each other's fear and there was always one who would wind the others up just as the mood-o-meter was swinging back to calm.

Naturally, that peace only lasted half an hour. A girl with mousy-brown hair decided she needed to visit the toilet. And guess who was walking down the corridor as she came out of the bathroom.

Nebula.

Which now means, wherever I am so are they. Whenever one needed to go somewhere like the toilet I went too and stood outside. I had to rope Steve in to babysit just to stop the other nine from following.

"What's in it for me?" he said.

"Uh, I think you still owe me for saving your ass in Dublin."

"I don't think so, Romanoff. That made up for me coming to your rescue in Valetta."

"C'mon Rogers, we both know it was Sam who was in trouble there and Wanda saved the day."

"Guess you got a point. Not sure you answered my question though."

"Call it a talent," I smirked at him.

He's currently passed out on the sofa, snoring softly. Every now and then there are little hitches to his breath. I'm listening as much as I can, hoping he doesn't have a nightmare.

The last thing I need is ten wailing children and a crestfallen Captain America.

All the children are sleeping now, we've turned the living area into a makeshift room for them. And I'm tired in a way that I thought was only possible after an intense several days long mission. It's weird Tom. The tasks were menial, the conversation not exactly sparkling and yet I would gladly keep on having days like this.

The guilt of our loss loosened a little. The pressure of finding a way back for everyone eased ever so. The abyss that wanted to swallow me whole was, for the moment, not looming so large.

It was a drop of almost normality. A very small drop diluted swiftly by the vast ocean of despair, desperation and failure we were set adrift in.

A small relief that meant everything.

In the blur of the day I didn't see Pepper's reply until a few minutes ago. She wants me to go round.

Judging from the address they're not in the city anymore.

* * *

**A/N: Tony's back in the next chapter, at long last. I have lots of ideas floating for the story around so we'll see what happens.**

**Oh, and I should probably just mention again that I own nothing but the story, all the rest belongs to Marvel.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys, **

**Hope you're all staying safe and well. The next instalment for you, hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**10 June 2018**

Hey Tom,

Sometimes you get a day you don't expect.

It reaches out and pulls the rug from beneath your feet and leaves you wondering what's next.

For instance, when something even the smallest bit good happens, a whole bunch of bad is right round the corner. I don't mind bad. Most of my life was spent in that territory. But all the bad we've had lately is worse than anything that's come before. It's enough to leave even the most optimistic person suspicious of light.

So when I left the compound to go and see Pepper and the sun was shining, a bad feeling gnawed away at the pit of my stomach. Telling me that any second now something was going to jump from beyond the sunlight to drag me back into the shadows.

Shadows that were really mine. Ones that never left no matter how fast I drove or sharp I turned the corners. They clung on and always would.

Go on, call me a pessimist. We're all thinking it.

The day stayed clear. Nothing threw itself in my path. And those shadows stayed behind me.

For the first time since Thor killed Thanos I was able to breathe. The aftertaste of guilt fainter than it ever was.

All the while a small part of me said to relax and enjoy it. So small it should have been easy to ignore. But it put up a good fight.

I was so focused on the war inside I hadn't realised I was almost at the end of my journey. I registered the trees on a subconscious level, remembering too many times in my past when enemies tried to use similar terrain against me.

The sat nav insisted I keep going. So I did. Shadows fell over the car, nothing to do with the ones I'd worried about my entire journey.

And then there was a beautiful house with a lake glistening behind it. It was unassuming and yet still surrounded by whispers of grandness.

A perfect blend of Potts and Stark.

I pulled up a little off to the side.

As I stepped out and slammed the door shut visions of the emaciated Tony collapsing into Pepper's arms filled my mind. Followed by the slightly withered version of him clinging to her hand at the memorial.

As I reached the steps up to the porch I was faced by a fuller, healthier him. Armed with an unreadable expression and a crumpled paper bag. I was convinced the good day was about to _say _good day. I thought I felt those shadows lurking in the wings, ready to make their appearance.

Neither of us moved, entering into an accidental staring contest. Until he picked a blueberry from the bag and flicked it into his mouth.

"Welcome to Château Starkotts. Or maybe Pottark. I dunno, it'll be easier to introduce after the wedding."

There was a humour in his voice that I hadn't heard for so long. Sure, it came with a roughness, but he sounded more like himself than I expected.

"Good to see you, Tony."

"What, no sarcastic quip? You've gone soft Romanoff." He waved me up onto the decking and we walked round to the door, the lake coming into full view. He hesitated at the door before deciding to lean against one of the wooden beams supporting the porch roof.

Was this when it was all about to fall apart?

"Rhodey said the gang was getting back together," Tony stated, throwing a blueberry in the air and catching it in his mouth.

No, I guess not.

"Yep. "

"Heads up." He threw a berry my way and I let it bounce off my forehead and onto the floor. He followed its journey onto the wooden decking with his eyes, chucking another one in his mouth. "Well that was a waste. I expected better."

"Rhodey mentioned you had a slight blueberry addiction. Should we be worried?"

"Hey lady, get your own Rhodey. I'm not sharing mine."

"Don't think that's your choice."

"Funny, he said the same thing." Tony scrunched up the now empty bag and shoved it in his back pocket, still chewing on the last couple of berries. "So, what's the deal little Red? Though, you're blonde now. What's with that anyway? Having a bit of an identity crisis? Suppose it was only a matter of time before all those other lives of yours got their wires crossed. But honestly, if you've gone blonde what am I supposed to call you now?"

"How about Natasha."

"Nah uh. Too serious for me. Is it even your real name?"

"No."

"Seriously? Sort of wasn't expecting that answer."

I blinked at him and there was a moment's silence as he contemplated my answer. He scratched at his neck and tapped his foot, never once staying still.

"I guess I could go with the obvious and call you Blondie."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"I'll find a decent nickname for you, one way or another. Or you know, if you have a suggestion you could just call me. Promise not to leave you hanging on the telephone. Hey, do you reckon there really are men from Mars out there, who like eating cars?"

"Tony."

"You know, the hardest part of finding you a new nickname-"

"Tony."

"-is trying to think of one no one's thought of before. I don't like to copy others. There's only one Tony Stark, and it should be the same for all of my creations. Whether they're flying suits or nicknames-"

"Tony!"

"Whoa there, no need to go atomic."

"Blondie's fine," I sighed, "Rocket already has dibs on Goldilocks. I can't wait for the red to come back," I said, massaging my temples.

"Me neither, I'm running out of song titles. Think I need to go have a look through their back catalogue."

"Where's your better half?" I asked before he could walk away to do just what he said. "She wanted to see me."

"Shopping. Apparently she needs to make you this recipe she found. You're in for a treat when Pepper cooks lunch."

"Oh, I didn't realise I'd be here that long."

"Got other things to do?"

"I've left Steve alone looking after ten kids," I didn't miss the flinch when I mentioned the name, nor did I miss the mischief in his eyes when I stopped talking.

"Wow, he really is a super soldier. You two moved quickly. I'm happy for you. Truly."

"Tony," I groaned.

"Well, if you insist on being vague with the details, I'll be forced to fill them in on my own. And I have a very wild imagination."

"They're the kids we rescued at the port."

"Ah," he said, looking serious for the first time since I stepped out of the car. "How are they?"

I considered for a moment. On the face of it they seemed fine, but children were great repressors. They were hurt, scarred from the captivity and scared of everything around them. I didn't know how long they were held because they didn't know. Or maybe because they didn't want to confide. After all, the last group of strangers looking after them had smuggled them into a foreign country to be sold.

"As you'd expect," I finally answered. He looked at me hard, as if trying to read all my secrets. His eyes were the typical Stark Storm. Then he whipped his head to look out over the land in front of us.

"And how're you?" He asked.

I smirked, fixing his profile with my own steady stare.

"As you'd expect."

A small smile graced his features as he drummed his hands against the wooden railing of his porch. I opened my mouth to throw the question back at him but never got the chance to utter a syllable.

"Hey, Red. Uh, I mean, Blondie. I'm sorry for that comment earlier about your multiple lives," he took a breath to carry on but I cut in.

"I can take a joke, Tony."

"Course you can. Umm, look, I dunno if you've had a chance to stop by your apartment in the city-"

Again, I took the liberty of cutting in.

"I got your note," it was my turn to face forward and avoid eye contact as Tony studied me, "you didn't need to do all that. And you don't need to apologise. You trusted me and I threw that away."

"And yet, of the three of us, I can't help but think you were the only one with your head screwed on right. Maybe if we were all still together what happened wouldn't have happened."

"Trust me, I've had those thoughts too."

There was a split second when neither of us knew what to say. When Tony found something, the devastation he tried to keep from his voice was wrenching.

"He almost killed me."

I knew, of course. Steve told me not long after we met up on the run. His actions haunted his dreams. He said he didn't know who he was anymore. Forgetting that plenty of things drive plenty of people to actions they never thought possible.

Was what he did okay?

No.

But I understood.

Ever since he came back he had a mental checklist of everything that had gone wrong.

The world he'd sacrificed himself for. Not worth it.

The one woman he'd loved. Gone, in mind then in body.

His best friend. Hallowed out and turned into a ghost story.

His way of life. Extinct.

Bucky was a tiny sliver of the life he thought he'd lost.

And Steve was just a man with PTSD plucked from everything he knew, trying to keep hold of the one thing he recognised.

The rage festered. Then it bubbled. And then it boiled over with Tony.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

But it was human.

The thing with life though. It's never cut and dry. As much as I understood where Steve's anger came from, Tony had every right to cut him off like he did. To take away his Shield. Because Steve betrayed him. Mister I'm-always-honest lied to him.

So. What do you say to something like that?

"Yeah," was all that slipped out of my mouth as the emotions of two years ago swirled between us. "I'm sorry Tony. I didn't do it to hurt you. I thought it was the best thing at the time."

"You know," he said as if he didn't hear me, "the thing that really gets me about Steve isn't that he whaled on me. I mean, that man is just full of repression. I would say he'd need to chill if he hadn't already spent a lifetime on ice. It's that he always acted like this perfect guy, a man that we should all try to be like. But when it came down to it he wasn't any better than the rest of us. He lied and expected me to understand. I wasted all that time respecting him, looking up to him even. And I just can't forgive him for that. But I can forgive you, because you've never pretended to be someone you're not."

"I've sort of made a living out of being someone else," I said.

"You know what I mean, Blondie. You've never apologised for being who you are. You own it. You have your secrets and your methods and sometimes it can be ugly, but you've never shied away from it. I'm even actually starting to believe that you have a reason for your secrets."

Sensing a moment it could finally seep into, silence crept between us. It was strong and not quite comfortable. And though it stretched, it wasn't awkward. It lasted until Tony cleared his throat, rapped his knuckles against the wood and spoke.

"What I'm trying to say is that if I don't need to apologise, then neither do you. Deal?"

He held out his hand. I looked up at him and took it.

"Deal."

"Great. Cheers to not apologising. My bad. We don't have any drinks. I should probably go and fix that."

He sauntered off through his door and beckoned me through. The house was light and airy, homely details scattered throughout with a touch only Pepper could have brought.

"For what it's worth," he called from the kitchen, "I really didn't mind adding your apartment to my roster of responsibilities. I befriended a cat there."

My mind flashed back to the dust-decorated water bowl. Something must have shown on my face because Tony hesitated as he passed me some water.

"Liho," I said, pushing the memory from my mind, "I gave her some food when she was living on the streets and she took it as an invitation to claim my favourite cushion on the sofa. She's gone now, in the Snap."

A pause.

We were back to not looking each other in the eye. Or at least I was, I didn't really know what Tony was doing with his.

"You know," he paused to take a sip of his drink, "I never thought I was a cat person until I met T'challa. In all honesty, pets aren't really my thing. I spend so much time in the lab I'd probably forget to feed them."

"I'm sure Friday would remind you."

"True. True. Even so, I always thought I might go for something a bit quirkier. Cats and dogs, they're just so mundane. Me, I'm more of a llama person, or an alpaca, or maybe some sort of marsupial. Or one of those things you've got."

"And what do I have," I smiled in spite of myself.

"That raccoon thing."

"I think he's a special case, more of a person less of a pet."

"I dunno, walks like a raccoon, talks like a raccoon, must be a raccoon." He shrugged his shoulders, though the curling of his lips gave away his amusement. "Anyway, I'm not an expert at reading feline facial expressions yet, but I think that cat missed you."

"Well, I have to be honest Stark. This is _not_ how I thought my day was gonna go."

A short, sharp bark of laughter and any tension I'd felt since stepping out of my car eased away. I thought I was coming here just to settle the details of this organisation with Pepper, instead I'd settled any bad blood between Tony and I.

Rather than being pulled from under my feet, the rug was put back. Even if it's just for tonight, something in this world feels right again. And it's nice.

Pepper came home not long after our chat and we spent the entire day going over everything. By the time we'd finished it was dark. She insisted I stay the night.

It's quiet out here. Different from the compound. An odd half-chorus of insects is sounding in the darkness. Everywhere I go there's a reminder of the scars that mar the planet.

One day that chorus will be full again.

* * *

**17 June 2018**

Sorry Tom,

It's been hectic. Wanted to let you know I'm still alive.

All's quiet again, unless you count whatever the hell our alien friends are up to. Tony decided to convert some old Stark Industries warehouses across the country into fully kitted facilities to look after any orphans that make their way to us. Pepper's got some guys buying properties in different countries that we can do the same to.

The children have gone. They have everything they need, now. Everything they deserve.

I sort of miss the company.

They were demanding, noisy, and too damned scared. But they were also inquisitive, smart and despite their kidnapping and being left all alone in a world so busy dealing with other problems it barely had time for theirs, they weren't as scarred as the other company I keep.

At least they're being looked after properly now.

* * *

**20 June 2018**

Mystery solved!

What mystery, you ask.

Let me set the scene for you.

I'm at my desk, feet up on the table (screw you Madame B). There's no music because my demons are keeping themselves busy for once. I have my tablet balanced on my legs and I'm going through Rhodey's list of revisions to the Accords, and adding some of my own. We had a good chance of turning them into something most people were happy to swallow. Except maybe the politicians, but at this point I couldn't give two shits about whether it goes down smoothly for them, or if it feels like they're swallowing barbed wire.

When I look up the clocks are well into unsociable hours.

Apart from my occasional scribbling and tapping, not a creature was stirring not even a-

Bang!

That damn raccoon.

Bang. Bang.

What the hell are they doing?

I try to drive the noise away. Block my ears to it and keep up my concentration.

But-

Bang.

-it keeps-

Bang.

-on-

Bang.

-going.

"Focus," I said. The top lawyer Pepper leant us wanted to see the documents tomorrow. To cover any loopholes we might have created and exploit those exposed in the original. We were going up against some of the best negotiators the UN had. And sure, I'm Russian and there's no messing with us when it comes to convoluted politics. But even we need to be able to concentrate.

Bang!

That's it.

I had every intention of storming in on them and raging at whatever the fuck they were doing. Until, that is, I realised, I'm so tired of being angry. And they needed a way to keep their mind off the grief.

The banging and clinking were almost deafening when I reached the source. They'd commandeered one of Tony's labs and I wish I could say I recognise what they were working on but even after almost a decade of working with a genius the one thing I learned was it's never what it seemed.

I waited in the doorway until they noticed me. Nebula was crouched over some wires. Stripping them. Until she sensed I'd joined their get together. She stood. Movement almost robotic. Almost human.

Knowing no noise meant no work, Rocket looked over at his partner then followed her gaze. The look in their eyes was a familiar one. Wary and weary. Stuck with a whole bunch of people they don't know, therefore don't trust. Living a reality no one should have to live. Plus, a whole load more baggage I couldn't unpack for them because I was neither a robotically enhanced daughter of a genocidal maniac, nor a genetic experiment left to fend for myself in the depths of a galaxy that has a tendency to look down on anything different.

"Do you want something? Or are you just here to stop us from working," Rocket said.

"Just call it reconnaissance," I said through the smirk I knew he hated.

He was incredibly easy to wind up. A few well thought out words and a look to make him feel uncomfortable. Once he felt uncomfortable, he did the rest of the work for me. In times like these you need to find your entertainment where you can.

Ever observant, Nebula's eyes almost sparkled with amusement.

"No offence, Goldilocks, but you don't strike me as a wallflower. If you're there, make yourself useful."

"Can't help if I don't know what I'm helping with."

"And yet history, Terran and otherwise, is full of morons duped into working on things they can't comprehend."

"It is an enhanced communications relay," Nebula said.

"C'mon robo-girl, she's not gonna get it."

"Oh no, fuzz ball. You're totally right," I sighed, "I can't possibly understand that you're piggybacking on Carol's tracking modifications to Stark's tech to boost the comms signal. I'm guessing you're adjusting it to cover the whole galaxy?"

I stepped closer, arms folded, pretending to inspect the work they were doing. Rocket looked between Nebula and me, wrench hanging uselessly in his hand.

"She already told you. Some sort of assassin's code, right? Sisterhood always has each other's back, yeah," he said.

"I have not. And I am unaware of such a code," Nebula answered, somehow managing to make it sound threatening.

"Not all of us on this planet are morons, Rocket."

"Yeah, well. I have yet to meet an unmoronic Terran. Be sure to point them in my direction when you think you've found one, so I can prove you wrong."

He jumped down from his vantage point that almost put him eye level with me and marched in my direction, trying to get all up in my face. Except he only came to my knees. Though, he still had the wrench in his hands, so he might be an ankle biter, but he was a weaponised one.

Nebula picked him up by the collar and put him back to his previous station.

"Refrain yourself. Act like you belong in a dog fighting pit and I will find you one."

He muttered under his breath at Nebula's words but turned back to what he was doing.

"What's taking you guys so long?" I asked, remembering what brought me there in the first place. "Not that I don't love how noisy this all is, but it's making it difficult to concentrate on my work."

"Pah," Rocket exhaled, unable to help himself, "your work, protecting all the Terrans. What about the rest of us, huh? Not giving much thought about all the others suffering out there."

"Aren't you guys the galactic travellers? I figured that's what you'd be doing. You know, an Avengers and Guardians team up."

"What gives you that idea?"

"Why else would you be upgrading our comms system? Surely you don't plan on making personal calls."

He sighed, hanging his head from the toll talking to me was taking. Nebula almost smiled, again.

"We don't have all we need," she said, "your planet is not advanced to our satisfaction, it is difficult to find the parts and creating them takes more time than it would elsewhere."

"Huh, well. If only there was an unmoronic Terran around who could take you somewhere that might help."

Nebula cocked her head and Rocket didn't react. I swear I did my best not to mess with him. Like I said, he deserved a bit of leeway given all he's gone through. But I started walking away before I could really stop myself and I was just thankful the smile on my lips was something he couldn't see when he called out.

"Alright, alright. You got me hooked," he jumped down once again and Nebula followed along behind, "what you got?"

He muttered all the way to the lift and continued his under-the-breath-tirade until the doors opened up to the floor we wanted. There's a vault under the compound, but above that is a treasure trove of retired Avengers equipment. Tony is a man who hates idle hands, and to keep his busy he tinkered more than a few suits, weapons and gadgets into existence. Every time we got an upgrade we put the old stuff down there.

Trust me when I say there was a lot in there.

"Since Earth is so uncivilised," I said, "it might not be quite to your standard. But if you're going to find anything useful it'll be here."

What lay before me was the history of our ragtag group of heroes. The journey of how we started and how we ended. The rise and fall of the Avengers.

And it was about to get plundered by a raccoon.

"I don't know what you expect us to find in this dump," he said, not able to completely hide the glee in his voice, "but something useful might pop up. Could at least taken us back to that Wakanda place, that's where the real gizmos are."

"Out of the question. Their royal family is sacred to them and pilfering through Shuri's creations is an insult," I said, "as you well know."

"But-"

"Just take a look."

Nebula had already wandered away by this point, a list in her hand as she inspected several items closely. Rocket skulked off in his own direction, ignoring the combat gear displayed proudly in alcoves along the left wall. I spotted my old suits, every one since I left Shield - or you know, since I destroyed Shield.

And next to my old stuff was Clint's.

The two assassin's tied together, always.

Almost always, at least. Whatever he's doing I hope he's okay. Not dead in a ditch, or drunk in a flea-bitten motel.

The bow hanging up by his latest suit was the one they confiscated from him after Germany. He always knew there was a risk of being caught and stripped of his arms and armour. And he was a sentimental man, if a little superstitious. There was no way he was going to risk losing the bow he'd wielded his entire Shield career. No, he kept that at home.

Bet it's with him now though.

I picked up one of the arrows. Deceptive in its simplicity. The only time he'd ever pointed one at me flashed through my head. If he'd done as ordered I wouldn't have had a chance to make amends for anything. Wouldn't have been a part of the Avengers or gotten to know Laura and the kids.

If he'd killed me like he was supposed to I wouldn't be feeling all of this pain.

I pressed too hard on the tip of the arrow, slicing my thumb and bringing me back to the present.

There was an odd slithering sound and I looked over to see Rocket dragging a sheet behind him, piled high with his haul.

"This is a start, good of you to share."

"Oh, I'm not giving it away for free," I said, putting the arrow back and wiping my thumb on my jeans, "both of you join the Avengers and you can have at it."

"How about we don't, and we take the stuff anyway?"

I flashed him my most innocent smile and mixed it with my calmest voice.

"A lot of people in this world are scared of me. Do you really want to risk finding out why?"

I swear I heard him gulp.

* * *

**22 June 2018**

Hi Tom,

If the recent tragedy has highlighted anything it's that no one should take the time they have for granted.

It's a luxury, not an essential.

Every second we live is a second more than so many other people. To wish it away, the time you have, is almost criminal.

You know me, though, I've never shied away from the criminal element within. As soon as the day started, I wanted it to be over.

I spent much of the night hanging around outside Thor's door. I heard crashing as I walked past on my evening wanderings and thought he'd hurt himself. As I was about to enter, the muttering reached my ears, then a crackle of electricity and more crashing.

Figured it was best to keep a barrier between us, but I listened in case the temper faded and he needed something.

It did fade, straight into sleep.

It was almost dawn, we had a meeting at noon and Rhodey planned to be here pretty early in the day. My makeshift office in the living area seemed the best place to go. That's when I bumped into Steve, no metaphor there, I walked straight into him and it was only his firm grip on my arm that stopped me from landing on my ass.

He was dressed for a run, an edgy set to his posture said he'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed and not a word was uttered between us when he headed for the door.

That's when I knew today was going to be like pulling teeth.

In the darkness of my past I've witnessed people having their teeth pulled, did it to them myself, sometimes. It's even been done to me.

So trust me when I say it was a fair comparison.

Dawn became mid-morning. Rhodey turned up, we took our habitual walk to the dock and caught up. Then a ship appeared out of nowhere over the compound to signal Okoye's arrival. As we went to greet her, Carol landed gracefully on the grass. We escorted them to a conference room Bruce hadn't taken over, to find Nebula already standing in the corner and Rocket hovering around a bin. When we entered he huffed and climbed his way into a seat.

Steve showed up. Not late for the meeting, but late by his standards.

Several of us in one place. It was almost unnatural.

The talk wasn't easy, but neither was silence when there were so many people around. Carol and Rocket rubbed each other the wrong way. Something the raccoon was good at doing.

Bruce had passed on the meeting, while he was trying to figure out what was going on with him and his other half, he felt he couldn't contribute anything to the Avengers. Still not understanding he was wanted for more than just the brute strength the Big Guy provided.

I had my arms folded and watched everyone, not able to stop myself comparing them to the original group once gathered around a conference table on the helicarrier all those years ago. Clint was missing then too.

Steve sat to my left, also with folded arms but he wasn't looking at anyone. His eyes so far away, a slight frown turning his lips down and crinkling his brow. Nebula still stood in her corner, separate from the rest but her heavy glare made sure we didn't forget her looming presence. Okoye sat ramrod straight, accompanied by one of her Dora Milaje who stood behind her chair. Rocket stood_ in_ his chair, struggling to see over the table otherwise, and refusing some cushions to boost him up. Rhodey was on my left, his face unreadable to the newcomers. To me it said something like 'is this what we have to work with?'

And then there was Carol, the only one who was smiling despite the barbs Rocket sent her way. She and Okoye were the only ones who'd flicked through the file placed in front of them.

I looked at Steve, he still wasn't present. So, I cleared my throat.

Everyone fell silent, including Rocket. Colour me surprised.

"Thanks for coming, I know we're all busy with other things," I said, wondering how to keep so many people from such different backgrounds interested. "The UN wants the Avengers back-"

"What's a UN?" Rocket interrupted.

"You got the document?" I said.

"Yeah," he waved it me.

"There's a glossary in the back for any Earth terms you and Nebula might not be familiar with."

"I ain't stupid."

"No one said you were, but even a genius can't know everything," I said, doing my best to stay patient. The lack of sleep really working on my nerves.

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure, let's call Tony and see."

Rhodey laughed and even Steve's small frown disappeared for a while. I think it went to spend some time on Rocket's face.

"Speaking of Tony," Carol said as she leant forward to grab a pastry from the pile in the middle of the table, "is he a part of this team?"

"He's not taking an active role," I said, thinking back to the day at his house. I gave him the choice and no one was really surprised he declined.

"He'll still be supplying us with equipment, though," Rhodey added, "no one knows how to kit out the Avengers quite like Tony Stark."

"Shame, I was looking forward to working with him. A man who can make a suit capable of withstanding a moon has got some serious fuel burning in his brain."

"Anyway," I said, channelling Maria Hill as best I could. The sudden thought of her twisted my heart, I pushed it to one side, "we have the opportunity to amend the Sokovia Accords to something more workable, it's in the glossary, Rocket," I added as he went to interrupt again.

"Why do you not tear the Accords apart?" Nebula asked from her corner.

I looked at Okoye, not really sure where she stood on the matter. Both her kings had been for the Accords.

"Some of what they represent is necessary, that much we can agree on," I looked at Steve and he nodded, dragging his eyes to meet mine, "but a lot of what's in there are ideas pitched by people who will never be in danger of needing to make decisions in the field. Some of you here know a lot more about the other races out there, what's possible and what's not. But on Earth it's all very new to us. When you come up against something new it takes trial and error to win that fight, and we have to figure it out quickly."

"Agent Romanoff is correct," Okoye said, "I have read the Accords, was privy to some of the discussions King T'chaka had regarding their creation. Many of the recommendations are superfluous. More about controlling that which they do not understand instead of keeping the wider public safe."

"You know, sounds to me like the people hiding in their offices and giving orders are the ones that need fixing. Not the people fighting the fight," Rocket said.

Steve, Rhodey and I all gave our version of 'you got that right', while Carol and Okoye nodded. Nebula remained as passive as the woman from the Dora Milaje.

There was a moment's silence as we reflected on Rocket's words and wished it were an easy thing to change.

"Okay, so question. I'm still catching up on stuff. If these Accords are so bad," Carol said, pointing at me and Rhodey, "why did the two of you sign them?"

"Too much collateral damage. I'm a military man. I swore to protect people," Rhodey said.

"If we didn't do what we did on Sokovia the whole planet would've been wiped out. You know that," Steve said, the edginess from earlier in the day not worn down by his morning run.

"And if Ultron didn't exist then no one would have died, Steve."

"So the rest of us are punished because Stark couldn't help himself?"

"Funny, I don't remember Stark being involved with what happened in Lagos."

"Shut up," I said to the both of them, a deadly silence followed as I swallowed my temper. "Stark did what he did because he wanted to protect everyone. He went too far with something even he didn't fully understand. Can you blame him for wanting something in place that would stop him from making that mistake again? And what happened in Lagos was an unfortunate accident. Rumlow was the one who set the bomb off, if Wanda hadn't reacted as quickly as she did so many more people would have died."

"But Nat, the fact remains that if the Avengers weren't in Lagos those people wouldn't have died."

"What's your point, Rhodey? Because that's also true of every single conflict that's ever happened. If we didn't intervene, more people would have died later on. The same goes for New York, Washington and Sokovia. It's always been about damage limitation, not damage avoidance. Unless we find someone who can reliably predict the future, the latter is impossible."

He looked like he wanted to spit at me, the indignation in his eyes was one of the most intense emotions I'd seen cross his face. But then he played the words back in his head and came to a begrudging acceptance. The only difference between Lagos and similar events throughout history was that Lagos was perpetrated by someone with exceptional powers that made her different. Wanda's mistake was no different to a drone taking out its mark and a couple of dozen other people surrounding it - innocent or otherwise. I carried on as Rhodey remained silent.

"What the Accords fail to take into consideration, even though it's mentioned on every other page, is that we're not alone. There are other things out there and sometimes they come here. How can a planet as ignorant as ours know how to defend itself against the unknown? There is a bigger picture we need to keep in focus, the Accords as they are only look at a little bit of it."

The rest of my words hung on the prickly silence. Steve was looking at the table again, Rocket was sniggering in agreement at Earth being ignorant. Carol seemed to agree with that assessment too.

"The death of my compatriots is more than unfortunate, it is tragic," Okoye said, "but they would not want their demise used as a tool to give governments the ability to make this world less safe. And I believe if King T'chaka was here he would support revisions to the original document. As would King T'challa."

"Right," Carol piped up again, "so that's Rhodey settled, but what about you, Nat? Why did you sign it?"

"Can't steer the ship without a hand on the wheel," I shrugged. "It would only be a matter of time before the Accords were amended."

"I like your style, Goldilocks."

"Good to know we can agree on something, Rocket. Right, Rhodey can speak now."

"In the documents in front of you you'll find an amended version of the accords Nat and I have been working on. We've included what we remember of the original objections and since we've actually had time to go over it, we've added a few new ones. We've also whipped up an addendum to cover any Avengers operating off world."

He carried on for some time, long enough for the pile of pastries to whittle down to the dregs. His explanations were dotted with questions from the others, we both took turns to answer. When everyone was satisfied with their knowledge and understanding Rhodey wrapped up.

"Last time these Accords were thrown at the Avengers without much time to go over them. I want to avoid that this time round. Go through this again, make sure you're happy, and see if you have any ideas."

Just as everyone was about to get up and go, Nebula decided to contribute.

"Who's the leader?" she asked, flicking through her copy.

"Do we need one?" Rocket said.

"When teams like this try to be democratic they fail," she replied. "If you want to succeed there needs to be a leader."

"She's got a point," Steve said.

"Can we just elect you and Nat," Rhodey asked, pointing at us, "you guys ran it last time."

"And look how well that turned out," Rocket scoffed.

"Hey fur-face, that's not exactly fair." Carol.

"No, he's right," Steve said, "I helped to split the team apart last time. Nat was the only one who made any sense during the Accords. My vote goes to her."

Are you kidding me? In the back of my mind I heard Clint's laughter when I told him I was going to co-lead the Avengers with Captain America. If he could hear this he'd be doubled over and struggling to breathe for laughing.

"Steve," I said, trying to get him to look at me but he refused.

"Okay then, everyone in favour of Nat taking the helm raise their hands," Rhodey said before I could get a word in. Everyone raised their hands.

Wait, what?

"Glad that's sorted then," Carol said, grabbing her folder and the pastry dregs, "we'll go and look these over. Avengers, disassemble."

Everyone filed out, Rhodey hesitated a little. Until he saw the look I levelled at Steve, then he hightailed it outta there. I think Steve felt it too, he tried to slip out his seat and into the corridor.

"What was that?" I said, stopping him in his tracks.

"I don't want an argument."

"Good thing I'm not giving them out then."

He turned to face me, and genuine anger flashed in his eyes. For the first time I could reconcile him with the man who beat the crap out of Tony.

"The Accords. Project Insight. There isn't much difference between them. Except this time we're the weapon an organisation like Hydra can use against the world."

"It's not a one-way street. Do you really think after everything that's happened Rhodey won't be on the lookout? Or that Stark won't lend a hand if we need to hack into a government. Jesus, Steve. Who's to say the Avengers won't turn on people. I mean, we've all proven pretty susceptible to brainwashing. If we stay autonomous who'll stop us?"

"I just don't like it, Nat."

"Really? I couldn't tell. Dumping all that responsibility on me in there. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"A leader needs a clear head. No matter the disaster yours always is. It was clear then, it's clear now," his was a cold fury. It chilled the room and froze my tongue.

Over the years, a lot of people have said a lot of things to me. What he said wasn't really an insult, more an accusation.

It hurt a lot.

Maybe the most.

"This isn't like you, Steve."

"Well, the world had someone like me and look what happened. So maybe to fix it, it needs someone who's not like me."

"That doesn't make sense," I hoped it would lift his mood a little. It didn't.

"Does anything anymore?"

He turned on his heel and left.

* * *

Clint was a little ashamed to admit he was glad some of the heat had gone off him. Not that anyone was really fully angry at Steve, just perplexed. Like Clint was after Tokyo and Nat updated him on everyone's activities during his five-year sabbatical. The Steve she spoke of was not the one he had known.

Not that he was one to talk.

Laura suggested everyone take a break, she herself struggling with the mixture of emotions running through her. Clint imagined they were very similar to his own. Confusion at the way Steve had acted, grief that even in the small ways Natasha's pain was never ending, and pride at everything the red head took on. Reading about all these projects and endeavours she wanted to nurture and knowing what they had grown into was as heartrending as it was uplifting. She was not the same person he was ordered to kill all those years ago. In the shadow of the greatest disaster to hit the universe, she became the person she was always meant to be.

And he'd missed it.

Everyone felt heavier after her last few entries, despite them being much lighter in tone. Steve, of course, was thrown back to a dark time. Wanda was reminded of one of the worst moments of her life but was amazed at how easily Natasha stood by her years later. Fury and Hill kept up their particular brand of stoic silence.

The heaviest part of all, for everyone in that room, was the conversation between their two dead friends. An exchange that would have otherwise slipped into the infinite ether of history. And yet it was an exchange that highlighted the best of both of them.

The incredibly forgiving nature of two people who no one liked to forgive.

The humour. The friendship. The compassion.

Always there.

No matter what.

* * *

**A/N: I was nervous about writing Tony at length but it ended up being a lot of fun. I hope it came across just as fun to read.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi guys!**

**I hope you're all safe and well.**

**I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who read, favourited, followed and reviewed since the last chapter. There's a lot going on around the world at the moment so thank you for taking the time to read.**

**Before you head into chapter fourteen I just wanted to clear something up about the last chapter. Steve didn't _want_ to kill Tony, he just almost did. During the final fight in Civil War there's a bit where, to me, it looks like he gives in to his anger because he wanted to protect Bucky and I think he forgets exactly who he's fighting. It's blind rage and he loses control of his actions.**

**Anyway, I hope that helps :)**

* * *

**24 June 2018**

"Does anything anymore?"

What do you think Tom, does anything make any sense anymore?

I feel like I've asked myself that question every minute since Steve asked it. And I'm no closer to finding an answer.

The chill from his words still hasn't left me either. A clear head was always an asset. That's what I was taught in the Red Room.

It was true at Shield, too.

A clear head delivered the results needed for both.

When did it become a bad thing?

Maybe I shouldn't think too much on his words. Unless delivering a speech at crunch time, Steve's not the greatest at expressing himself.

But he is another friend in pain. How do I help him?

Another question I don't know how to answer.

**25 June 2018**

I've decided that maybe it's not a question I want answer right now.

Thanks to Steve's impromptu bowing out of the lead role, I have paperwork spewing from my ears. Maybe even my nose.

Somehow, during my tenure in Shield as scary-ass-agent I also picked up a reputation for not doing paperwork. I'm not really sure how.

Don't get me wrong, stacks of forms and reports don't get me all warm inside, but I also don't see the point of prolonging it. It was a necessary part of every mission and essential to the running of the organisation. I turned the paperwork in as soon as I got back to base.

Always.

The only exception being when the Winter Soldier shot me, the first time - I was too busy replenishing my blood supply and being in a medically induced coma (more for the benefit of the doctors and nurses than mine. When I'm delirious I tend to jump back to all those enforced Red Room visits to the medical wing. Let's just say, I never got a lollipop or sticker for being a good girl).

Anyway, back to the point. Just because I was prompt with my paperwork doesn't mean I enjoyed it. And yet I'm shackled to my desk churning out report and assessment after report and assessment. When I wasn't on those two fine things, I was once again revising the Accords in line with suggestions from the team and legal advice from the lawyer because, damn, Rhodey _really_ didn't want it to be like last time. Then there was the opening and funding of different Worldwide Orphan Overall Protection Services facilities.

Or WOOPS for short.

If that was the best name I'm not sure I want to know what the others options were.

Just for the name alone, I'm regretting being associated with it.

Every facility across the world had the exact same functionalities and was of the same quality. And of course, Wakanda refused to have one of a lower standard than the schools their toddlers went to, so we had to upgrade each and every one of them with the Wakandan tech.

Tony was very happy. He got to go to Wakanda and play with their toys and everything.

* * *

**28 June 2018**

Hey Tom,

I've pretty much been everywhere on Earth. It's one of the perks of being Shield's number one spy.

Huh, there's a million dollar arms deal going down in Jordan? Better send in Natasha.

Oh really? A drug smuggling ring in Peru? Well, we've just the person for that.

A top scientist who wants to defect from North Korea, you say? You've guessed it, the Black Widow will be right there.

I have the places I like to go and the ones I really don't. I can get by without speaking English most of the time, and odds are I have a stash of the right currency hidden somewhere nearby.

I'm well prepared for most places most of the time.

And then the stars above turned into a destination.

The one place I never expected to go was space. Let alone to a planet like The Garden, with people from across the galaxy.

Despite telling us we would travel the globe, the Red Room kept our minds small - all the better for them to manipulate us. The only world that mattered was between those four walls, all the rest was a mission.

The girl I was then, left hand cuffed to her bed and surrounded by the soft breaths of the other cuffed and sleeping girls, could never have imagined the world beyond the one she inhabited.

Could never have thought she would look at the sky differently.

The empty blue, once so calm, was an open field for our next visitors. Every sky of clouded grey could hide the next threat.

The sorrowful stars twinkled, together. Bright and looked down on the Earth, together. Hiding the loneliness of a life lived light years apart, together. And maybe they even watched as an army headed straight for us, cloaked by our limited knowledge of what lay above. Perhaps they can see other people out there, looking up at them and wondering if there's a way to unvanish everyone.

Or maybe we really are the only people in the universe trying to find an answer.

* * *

**29 June 2018**

Alright, it's official.

The Avengers are back in business. We have the Accords and they seem fairer.

One of the concessions was to let the UN elect a member to the team. Because of all his work facilitating the Accords to begin with and this time round, not to mention the horrific injury he gained defending them, that title went to Rhodey.

We knew it was going to, and that's earned us a reprieve for as long as he remains on the team. His replacement is a bridge we'll have to cross when we come to it.

Of course, there was an issue once they realised I was running things, but leave Rhodey in a room with anyone for a length amount of time and they always come round to his way of thinking. I'm not sure what he said to convince them. I'm happy not to.

Meanwhile, we've kept a sense of autonomy. We don't need to run everything by the UN and the Register has been buried away, but we do have to communicate better with the countries and cities we might be visiting. Since Rhodey's the diplomatic one I think I'll give him that responsibility. People know how to respond to someone like him. Never quite so sure what to do when faced with me.

* * *

**6 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

Since the Accords were accepted and the Avengers made official there have been a rush of meetings and conference calls to get the last few bits in place. I won't bore you with the detail.

But we've all agreed that our off-worlders need to go as soon as possible. Carol's already headed off a few times so we can test how functional Rocket and Nebula's little project is.

All systems go.

I've already spoken with her and suggested she leave first. She can scout planets and gauge the level of general sentiment quicker than the other two. She was happy to oblige. Not surprising, she's never struck me as someone who likes sitting around and doing nothing.

Which might explain why she caught up with me on my run this morning. I don't often get time for it, and when I do my mood doesn't like to give much leeway to anything beyond the punching bag.

I might have to change that though. As I turned at the tree line the gentle trill of birdsong washed over me. It was one of the nicest things I'd heard in a while.

Then it was interrupted by a stomping storm of footsteps and a nickname I can do without.

"Hey ballerina," Carol said and stumbled just as she caught up.

"Not as graceful on the ground as you are in the air."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for the sky. But I can still put one foot in front of the other and that's all that matters."

She wasn't uncoordinated, far from it. But she ran like had to, not like she wanted to. I let her regain her balance and spoke a few steps later.

"Can I help with anything?"

"Does it have to be all business all the time? Maybe I just decided I wanted to spend some time with you before I head off."

"Why?"

"We have a mutual friend and stories to share."

"So, you want to talk about Nick?"

"You call him Nick? Interesting."

I resisted the urge to quirk my eyebrow at her. It didn't escape my notice she called him Fury and I wondered if he'd rattled off his call-me-by-my-surname-and-only-my-surname speech he gave everyone. Maria and I heard it for the first time together, and with a single look we made a pact to always call him by his first name. We did it so much it became habit, then it became natural.

The occasions were rare when we would call him by his surname.

Every now and then he would make a show of irritation.

We never believed him.

Carol took my silence as a lack of interest rather than an all-too-common moment of contemplation.

"Okay, so you got me. It is about business. I just want to know why you're so determined to branch into intergalactic relations?"

"Why?"

"I haven't worked with a team since the Kree and they weren't all they were cracked up to be."

"And you think if I had an ulterior motive I'd come right out and tell you?"

"I'm good at spotting a liar?"

"And I'm good at deceiving."

"Not really making me feel that great about teaming up with you guys."

We ran a few more paces as I thought of something that would pacify her. Faced with her experience out there, my reasoning was naive. But it was also the truth.

"The universe is suffering because we failed. I want to stop it. Any leads about the Infinity Stones, I want to hear them. Rumours about something else that can help, whether it's magical, mystical or mythical, I want to know. Any threats out there that exist because we couldn't stop Thanos, I want to stop them. People in danger anywhere, I want to help them."

"You want a lot of things."

"There's only one thing I want. It just happens to be made up of trillions of things."

"You really think we can get them back?"

"If there was a way to get rid of them all in the first place, there has to be a way to get them back. The universe is too big for it not to be a possibility."

"I see why Fury likes you," she said and I was thankful for her use of the present tense, "you're every bit as stubborn as he is."

We laughed together just before she stumbled, not having seen the small burrow hidden by tufts of grass. She jostled into me and we had to stop or fall.

"Alright then boss, I'm a soldier happy to serve," she said once we were recovered.

I was covered in sweat and blades of grass stuck to my ankles. We were only halfway around the perimeter of the compound and I felt the urge to throw it in and head back to my air-conditioned office. Then a bee buzzed past, lazy as it bumbled along.

There was a time when I didn't believe in miracles.

Now, whenever I saw a bee or heard a bird, my days were full of them.

"Do your own thing. You know the terrain better than I do," I said once my mind was back to itself, "keep your ear to the ground and listen out for all the things I mentioned. Coordinate with Rocket and Nebula, you can offer each support if you need but remember they can't travel as fast as you. Make sure you keep me looped in and I'll let you guys know what's happening on Earth.

"Other than that, it's all as we said before. Steve and I will base our operations here and we'll respond to any threats across the globe. Rhodey will be based in Washington and first responder if necessary. Okoye is our eyes and ears in the Southern Hemisphere and, if they can spare the bodies, the armies of Wakanda will be our support. We'll hold team conferences monthly and communicate via email the rest of the time, though the line will always be open. Try and get back here whenever you can, just to touch base."

"Yes ma'am," she said and actually saluted me.

"You really don't need to do that."

"Why not? You're our leader. Though, if you don't mind me saying, I get the impression you think you shouldn't be."

I shrugged.

"We all have to make do with what we have," I said.

She looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it. Without speaking we both started up again, picking the pace up a notch, as if she heard my desire to get away from our last few words as fast as we could.

When we reached the compound I was in desperate need for a shower and Carol didn't look much better. It was hotter out there than it looked. We got in the lift together and I knew that as soon as she was refreshed she would head out.

No fuss.

No fanfare.

"Good luck out there."

"Thanks, ballerina. I'm looking forward to it," she grinned. "I meant it, you know. I have some stories to tell about Fury and I'm willing to share. There's a real doozy of a one about his eye."

"Next time you're here, I'll have the vodka out and you can tell me all about it."

The lift dinged and the doors opened.

She stepped out.

Winked.

And disappeared behind the metallic doors as the lift took me to my floor.

* * *

**10 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

All this paperwork might be the answer I needed to my insomnia. I swear, one more proposal and I'm going to sleep for a thousand years.

I have no idea how Pepper's put up with this crap for so long.

I'm itching to get back in the field but there are so many forms.

Though, I've just realised. One of the biggest perks of leading is delegation.

Get ready Steve, cos payback's a bitch and she looks a lot like me.

* * *

**11 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

A few years ago, more than I thought possible, Clint and I crossed paths for the first time.

He made a choice not to kill me.

I made a choice to accept his offer.

Figured I'd get some extra training, a chance to take down a few of the KGB bastards who'd had a hand in how my life had gone, make some amends for the many horrors I'd committed, and then die once my luck had run out, as I should have when my partner and I both defied expectations.

Not once during that crossroads did I consider the path I switched to would lead me to reading Dr Seuss to Thor Odinson , God of Thunder.

Up to a couple of days ago I'd run out of ideas of how to help the hulking mass of weeping Asgardian. With every day that passed he was getting worse and worse. Switching from raging anger one day to hardly a shadow of the man he was the next. All the time getting further and further away.

Then, during a bout of nostalgic denial he mentioned how his mother used to tell him and Loki stories of the great legends. And my mind was bombarded with memories of how attentive he was as he listened to other's tales.

Maybe there was a way to quell the storm within.

I found all the stories I could. The ones everyone seems to have read as child that the both of us had missed out on.

Sometimes the greatest escape is found between the pages of a children's book. And if it would help his recovery, I'd be glad to break my no-last-chapter rule.

I started with Peter Rabbit. Figured it was short enough to start with, in case it proved to be a bad idea, but long enough to get a proper read on his reaction if he proved to like it.

We sat at his dining table, amongst the dirty cups, cutlery and crockery. It was small and cramped. He was slumped in his chair, arms folded and eyes no doubt seeing Thanos in Wakanda and Thanos in The Garden.

I cracked the book open.

A few pages in he looked over at it.

"That," he said, pointing at the cover, "is not a rabbit."

I looked it over.

"What is it then?"

"It's ridiculous with those large ears and fluffy tail. And why is it wearing a blue jacket?"

I sighed and put it to one side, careful not to taint it with whatever sauce had dried onto the table. I looked over Alice in Wonderland and dismissed it, if we read that then we'd have to read Alice Through the Looking Glass and I had a vague recollection of someone galumphing back with the head of the Jabberwock and figured cutting heads off was a touchy subject around Thor.

I put Peter Pan to one side too, knowing there was some fighting but not certain if decapitation was a feature. I don't think I ever appreciated how dark children's literature was.

So, in the end, I settled for the complete works of Dr Seuss. As soon as I opened the book the smell of its pages wafted upwards and I couldn't resist inhaling deeper.

"Is that customary? I have seen my brother do the same," he asked, the scar across his eye marring his quizzical look.

"Almost certainly," I said, stretching my arms over the table, offering him the book. Instead of taking it he straightened up in his chair, eyed me as if I might be playing a trick, then leant over and sniffed the pages.

"It is...satisfactory," he said before doing it a second time.

"It's my belief that the more you enjoy the smell of the book, the more you'll enjoy what it has to say."

"Why?"

"All part of the experience. And you know me, I'm all about the experience."

Where once that might have drawn a smile out of him, his features remained stoic. Nowadays that was the best reaction I could ask for.

I started to read.

He listened.

Dr Seuss was oddly enlightening.

Sometimes Thor would pipe up and say things like "Sam-I-Am is a formidable adversary." or "That cat is more mischievous than Loki." and I took it as a good sign.

He grew bored of sitting still and started to pace. I took a break from the book and ferried the dirty dishes to his kitchen to load up the dishwasher. I kicked a bag on the floor, tucked away beside the bin, just peeking out enough to get caught. It clattered and crinkled in a way only beer cans and bottles could.

And I found myself wishing that we were in a different book to the one we were in. A children's one that had minimal death and a happy ending. Where gods were helpful or cryptic and not drunk. And aliens were goofy and silly with the strangest of weaknesses but easy to defeat.

I want to say something but words are failing me more and more. They're not as ready as they once were. I want to give him comfort, but that has never been a strength. I want to admonish him but how will that help? I want to say the right thing because though words alone won't help him, they have a habit of lingering long after they're uttered and flipping a switch that gets all the other work started.

These ones just lingered in my throat, unwilling to come out.

A small _ahem_ startled us both out of our thoughts and I cursed myself for letting my guard down.

Bruce stood beside the abandoned table, rubbing his hands together, glasses on the tip of his nose.

"Hey Nat," he smiled, not meeting my eyes and shuffling his feet, "sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. You're needed. Some Avengers business."

"We are needed," the god said and I could tell his mood had taken another swing, "Banner, Black Widow, we must go."

He tried to walk over to the scientist but stumbled, Bruce caught him. Concern splashed across his features as he shot me a look.

"Someone's been sneaking him alcohol," I said and gestured to my recent discovery, "I think I know, but can you try and find out who?"

"Sure," Bruce said as he escorted Thor back to his chair at the table.

"Are we going?"

"Not now, buddy," the scientist said, "it's nothing exciting. Nat can take care of it."

"Natasha!" He slammed the table with an open palm, I was surprised it didn't buckle under the force. "Bring me some beer. And green eggs and ham, I want to try this delicacy Sam-I-Am is so fond of."

Bruce hid a smile but couldn't quite stop his jerk of an eyebrow from jerking up.

"Don't judge," I said.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Agent Romanoff."

"Thank you. I've put dinner in the fridge."

He just smiled at me.

"What?"

"Nothing. I've - I've just missed talking to you. It's been a while."

I hesitated for a second, realising the last time we'd properly spoken to each other was before Sokovia. Everything since then had been about work or saving the world.

"Go," Bruce said, "I'll look after him."

Again, I wanted to say something. Regretted not having words at the ready like I was used to. So I said goodbye, because it was the only one that formed, and left.

* * *

**12 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

I'm going through another one of those sleepless phases.

I think it's been three nights now since I got so much as a wink.

Steve even had the gall to say I looked tired.

So I kicked him in the gut.

In my defence, we were sparring.

When it gets like this I find the artificial air in the compound makes it worse. The air conditioning dries out my eyes and that just highlights the weariness clawing away at my head and my arms and my legs.

At this point I head out to the dock. Even on a hot day there's a trusty breeze toying with the water. And, unlike the breeze available in the compound, this one is rejuvenating. Flowers scent the air in a way that suggests the summer is going to be a strong one.

I would prefer to sit on the edge and dangle my feet in the water, but the possibility of knocking my tablet into it is too high.

It's during this interlude that Nebula finds me.

Her footsteps cut through the persistent lapping of the lake against the shore.

"Hi," I say, without turning around. I close my eyes and enjoy the sun on my face for a few moments longer. I know she is in front of me when its gentle touch disappears and the back of my eyelids grow darker.

"Hello."

I open my eyes and can't decide if the look in hers is curious or angry. Unlike her furry partner, she's difficult to read. Much like Vision was.

"Rocket and I will be leaving."

"Can I help?"

We say at the same time. I feel a wry smile make is its way across my lips but her expression doesn't allow for levity.

"Sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"I've often been told I am abrupt."

"Not gonna get any complaints from me. Take a seat if you like."

"I would not."

Though she eyes the space next to me as if it is something she would like very much. I wonder of it's a hangover from her time with Thanos. She doesn't take comfort unless she feels she deserves it. The Red Room left me with something similar.

"When are you going?"

"We aren't sure. He wants to stock up on supplies first. I suggested speaking to you as leader of the Avengers."

She tested the name of our group on her tongue before saying it fully. It made her uncomfortable in the way saying Strike Team Delta had once put me on edge. Teams and groups aren't things people like us were made for.

"He's having a hard time adapting to the group dynamic?"

"I think he does not wish to replace the group he had."

"Tell him he's not replacing them. We're a means to an end. I'm sure he can appreciate that."

Nebula digested the words and nodded once she was satisfied.

"What about you? Not worried about replacing them?" I stood and moved to the edge of the pontoon, leaning against the support beam and wondered if the water was cold or as inviting as it looked.

"I was never a part of their group. We crossed paths. My sister was one of them," she paused as she spoke of her, "I had no place with them. Even with the Black Order, there was no place for me."

"I know that too well," I said.

"You have a place here, with these people."

"Yeah. It took a long time to find," I said, pushing the memories aside and turning to face her, "you have a place here too, Nebula. With these people."

The woman gave a minute nod, not believing the words I spoke. Then she took her seat upon the bench, and though she looked a little lost, a little uncertain, she also looked more than a little comfortable.

I shifted against the beam so I look out over the water again. I saw a bird fly above the trees before diving back down. A question I'd wondered before makes its way to the surface and it's out before I could feel bad about asking it.

"Nebula, do you know if the Black Order is still around? Or did they disband when Thanos retired?"

"Men like Thanos are not content with a life of idleness. They would have remained close to hand should he decide on a further quest."

"Do they know you betrayed him?"

"I am not sure. I was captured on his ship, but he was a proud man and after his public humiliation on Titan he liked to keep his failures close to his chest. Gamora's betrayal with the Power Stone deepened that preference," she paused as the question flittered across her eyes and she allowed herself permission to ask, "why?"

"I want to ask you a favour," I said, "as discussed the best thing you and Rocket can do to start with is work with Carol and do recon wherever you can. I want to know how chaotic it is out there. But there's something else. I'm guessing Thanos didn't go into his Infinity Quest blind, there has to be research that he did to get the stones, to learn everything he could about them. And I want to know if there's anyone out there who can help us. The more we know about the stones then the better our chances of finding a way to reverse this."

"You want me to track down his research?"

"Please. But don't take any undue risk. We've lost enough people, I don't want to lose another."

"If I locate his research and anyone who might help, am I to contact you first?"

"Yes. Three heads are better than one."

She paused for a couple of seconds.

"Yes. If you think it will help undo what my father did, I am happy to help."

"Are you sure?"

Again, she paused for a few seconds, allowing her eyes to go distant as she thought something over.

"This sisterhood of assassins Rocket mentioned. Does it exist or is it one of his jokes?"

"It's one of his jokes," I thought of Yelena and all the pain that came with her, then I looked at Nebula and her eyes flickered from one spot to another and she played with her fingers in the most human display I'd seen from her, "doesn't mean it can't exist though. Someone's got to have our backs."

She smiled. Just a twist of her lips, but it reached her eyes.

"Then yes, I am sure."

* * *

**13 July 2018**

And they're gone.

Everyone gathered outside to say goodbye to what was left of the Guardians. Even Thor.

"Goodbye, Rabbit," he bellowed, "and lady of blue."

His voice brighter in a way that made me think Rocket had found a way to get even more alcohol to him.

"Yeah, yeah, you too Thunder God," Rocket said, almost ducking his head in humiliation. He looked up at me. "Look after him, will you?"

I nodded.

"Stay safe, both of you."

Nebula inclined her head before climbing aboard.

"And, take care of yourself Goldilocks. Can't lead us if you're gonna waste away."

"Sure thing...Rabbit."

It's only after their ship disappears from view that I realise it's Friday the Thirteenth. I don't pay much mind to superstition, I hope it's not a bad sign.

* * *

"Kicked in the gut, huh Rogers? She catch you off guard or were you just being a gentleman?" Fury asked, even his eye patch teased the soldier.

"Careful Nick, I for one would love to hear the story about how you lost your eye," Hill cut in, "Barton, can you skip ahead and see if we can get any spoilers for it."

Clint opened his mouth to say something but the death glare Fury shot his way was enough to make him swallow his words.

"I think I remember that kick," Steve muttered to Wanda, rubbing his stomach, "she even managed to bruise me."

"Never tell a woman she looks tired, Steve. Everyone should know that," Wanda said, patting his shoulder in sympathy.

"Yeah, and definitely not if that woman happens to be Natasha Romanoff," Hill said, "you won't know what hit you."

"Sounds like you speak from experience," Laura said. She didn't know much of Clint's and Natasha's exploits at Shield, both of them taking the confidential part of their work very seriously.

"More experience than I care to share."

"I can't imagine auntie Nat being violent," Cooper said to snorts of laughter from all those who worked with her. "What? She read us stories, played our games, helped us draw, watched Disney with us and made us dinner whenever she babysat."

"And helped us with our homework," Lila added, "I remember at Christmas, when we were little, Coop and I would follow her around the house, singing Christmas songs at the top of our voices. She always sang them in Russian."

As the others learned more about the domestic side of Natasha, Clint looked back at the last few entries he'd read out, then ahead to what was to come.

As much as she was annoyed that Steve and Thor were distant and uncommunicative, she was being exactly the same. More of her writing turned towards the daily grind. The dull paperwork and meetings and the boring stuff no one wants to hear about.

She was feeling things. That was clear.

It was also clear that she had no desire to give them a name and bring them out in the light of day to study.

It's not the first time to happen. He'd lost count of the amount of times she balked at something most other humans could name and deal with, over the years. They were simple things she was always taught to repress.

Emotions would get her killed. If she repressed she would survive.

That was what the Red Room told her. And demonstrated on fellow students time and time again.

Survival was in her DNA, so she followed their teaching plan until she came to Shield. Then, whenever she came across something she would usually close off she found Clint and he always knew what she needed.

A companion to help her name what was there and to say it was okay.

When he started up again he read out the snippets of work with as much passion as he would the other entries.

Every word was precious, after all.

* * *

**A/N: Don't worry, I'm not going to put you through all the boring admin related entries.**

**Stay safe**


	15. Chapter 15

"All anyone ever wants to do is remember the best of people once they're gone and that's bullshit," Fury's voice travelled from the Quinjet and over the air, stomping its way on every bit of breeze as if it was wearing those heavy duty boots the man himself was so taken with. "Take Stark for example, history will brush over the womanising and the wild child behaviour as he grew up. Hell, even after he grew up. But he'd be the first person to say that was an important part of him. It made him the man he was. And without that man we wouldn't be watching the world memorialising him like he was the second coming of Jesus.

"Even Natasha, now she's gone they're happy to forget they hated her for a good long while. I'm willing to bet my reputation she didn't want to be remembered as a saint."

Clint was on his way to the barn, where he'd set up a makeshift workshop, when he heard the voices. He decided to hang around in the shadow of the jet. The remnants of Lila's music box were jostling about on the tray in his hands. He didn't know how to fix his relationship with her, but he could at least fix this.

They'd all realised the day was getting away from them and decided to take a break from the journals in an attempt to get something else done. Someone had put the radio on where they all heard that a TV studio was planning on airing a docu-series on Tony's life story.

It seemed to irk Fury.

Clint wasn't a fan of the news either. No doubt the Avengers would play a supporting role when it came to that part of the story, but that's not what bothered him. The man was still warm in his grave and already companies were coming forward to cash in on his name. It was something Tony wasn't fond of in life, that's why he was never backward in coming forward. He beat everyone else to the punch and claimed the attention and the gains before anyone else could. The only person cashing in on his name was him. Even then, Clint was sure _that_ money found its way into the bank accounts of several charities. Now he was gone, and everyone he kept at bay was pecking at him like vultures.

"I wouldn't bet against you," Hill said, "she took pride in how difficult she made life for people. She was a pain in the ass. Did what we all wanted to do and dared us to punish her for it."

"Did you?" Wanda's voice sounded light. More so than it had for a long time. To Clint, there was a shadow of laughter colouring her words.

"Had to," Fury growled, "would make us look soft otherwise."

"Whatever punishment we gave her, she wore it with grace. The only time she came close to cracking was when we confined her to her quarters for a month. She might've too, if we didn't have a carefree archer sneaking in to keep her company. Even then, she just paced a lot," Hill said, there was a hint of admiration in her voice.

"Those two together caused more trouble than my job was worth," Fury sighed, "but that's what made them great agents. Bringing me back to my point, Natasha would never want to be remembered as the golden girl who didn't put a foot wrong. If she was to be remembered she'd want it to be with warts and all. Like with Stark, it makes her achievements all the more incredible. I just think editing how we remember Stark is a disservice to the man. If we're gonna remember the person, we ought to remember them all."

"Why did you confine her to her quarters?" Wanda asked.

"She beat the crap outta Rumlow. Bastard deserved it but Shield couldn't turn the other cheek when a rookie agent was going round beating up her peers," Fury said. Clint smiled. Everyone was so wrapped up in the stories from her they hadn't heard, no one had much thought for the ones they already knew. Cooper and Lila talking about their version of her had opened a floodgate. Even Fury and Hill were swept up in the current. "If I'd known then what he was a part of and what he was gonna do I would have let her finish him off."

Hill laughed and Wanda didn't say anything. Despite all the good she'd done since, Rumlow was a sore point for her. Clint hoped she could get past it, forget about what his actions cost her. But in that regard she was too much like Nat, always focused on the negative she'd been a part of and never looked at the good she'd achieved.

"How do you reckon Clint's holding up?" Hill said once the silence had grown a little too long. "Every time I remember it hurts like a son of a bitch. It's got to be a thousand times worse for him."

The man in question shifted, regretting his choice to linger. He wanted to share in their memories of Nat, not in their speculation about his wellbeing.

"He's clinging on," Fury said, "by just a thread mind you. Have you watched him as he reads those journals? Everything is so clear on his face, sometimes I wonder if he's the same man I once thought of as one of my best spies."

"Course he's not, sir," Hill said with heat to her voice, "how can he be when he's lost a huge part of himself? First his family, then his partner. The two of them together were something special. If it weren't such a romantic notion I'd say they were like soul mates. But maybe like siblings is a better description."

"Still doesn't encompass their relationship."

Silence interrupted them again, Wanda sniffled. Clint imagined she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, furious that she'd let the tears fall.

"He dreams about her," came Wanda's cracked voice as she gave words to a knowledge she couldn't bear to carry anymore, "whenever he manages to sleep it's all he sees. And something else. I think it's the first time they met. But he's swimming in guilt and I don't know how to stop him from feeling it."

"Does he have anything to feel guilty for?" Fury's words were sharp, like Clint's were whenever he found out one of his kids had lied.

"No."

"Then there's no stopping it. That's up to him."

"You've seen his dreams?" Hill rejoined the conversation, unable to contain her curiosity as Steve had his, earlier that day.

"I don't mean to. But they're just so strong they become a part of mine. That's why I want to stay in here with you."

"What happened with her?" Both the spies asked.

"That's not my memory to share."

"But Nat. What was-? How-?"

"She was brave," Wanda said, "determined."

Her voice cracked again on the last word and Clint slipped away, silent. Around the jet and towards the barn so no one saw.

He spent the next half an hour trying to focus on the box. Except memories of Vormir wouldn't leave him alone. So he thought of other things.

He thought of the time she was stretchered in after her first run in with the Winter Soldier. The realisation she wasn't invulnerable came crashing down on him and fear choked all sense out of him. He refused to leave her bedside while she recovered.

Of when he came to after the Loki incident and she was there, ready to talk him through it and being that someone he needed to lean on or vent at or fight against, so his marriage didn't have to take on that burden. Knowing what it's like to come to yourself after losing control.

The fear she felt when she confronted him in Tokyo. Not afraid that he might hurt her physically, but that he was too far gone to come back.

The smile that grew wider and brighter as they headed back to the compound, the air full of the stories she had to tell instead of the grief he'd spent years giving into. The only smile brighter was the one she wore as they sped off to Vormir.

But most of all, he remembered when he introduced her to his family and later when he gave her the arrow necklace because he realised she was a part of that family. Her smile might have been dimmed by the tears haunting her eyes but he knew, as much as he knew anything, that she'd never been happier in those moments.

"Hey," Steve's voice rumbled from the entrance, drawing Clint back to the present and the realisation that he'd made no progress with the music box, "Nate's asking about the auntie Nat stories. Laura said dinner will take a while so we can fit a couple more in. If you're up to it."

"How're you finding them?" Clint asked as he stood from the workbench, satisfied by the clicking of his knees as they straightened.

"I was there for most of it, so far," Steve ducked his head, "but it's like I'm hearing it all for the first time. I was so wrapped up in my own thing."

"We all were, buddy. Even Nat."

Clint patted the soldier's shoulder and they walked out of the barn together. He left the box behind to work on tomorrow.

* * *

**16 July 2018**

I was suffocating. I couldn't breathe.

When I tried, something thick and coppery filled my mouth and attempted to slip down my throat and clog my lungs. It was relentless, swallowing me whole as someone held me under. I wanted out but wasn't strong enough to fight back.

The lapping liquid drained my strength.

I thrashed like I never had in real life. Desperate to escape, desperate to live.

And in the desperation-induced-commotion I swallowed some of what was drowning me. I choked, spluttered and gagged at the warmth as much as I could beneath the surface. My only achievement was swallowing more.

I was trapped. My hands found the edge of whatever contained the liquid. They slipped. My ribs complained at the sudden bashing they received but I couldn't listen. My lungs hurt more.

Then, whoever held me under pulled me up. They grasped at my hair and broke a few loose. I felt the air trying to get into my system. I told my body to calm itself. To regulate itself. But it didn't listen. I gasped for the oxygen and it made the choking worse. It was a struggle not to vomit.

Through all of this I kept my eyes closed. Feeling the viscous liquid dripping from my forehead, my nose, my chin. I felt it in the creases of my scrunched up eyelids and the furrow of my brow. It was in my ears and the tang of it peppered my mouth.

Whoever had hold of my hair yanked my head back and wiped my eyes clear. The cloth was rough and scratchy. When I did open my eyes I couldn't see who was with me, they were too blurred.

All I saw was the red.

Everywhere.

Up the walls and over the floor because of my struggle. Stained into my clothes, hands and arms so my skin matched my hair.

The taste remained on my tongue. I wanted to heave.

Thick and warm and all over me.

I wanted to scream. The desire bubbled within. To scream my vocal cords raw. Because I know I would never be free of it. Whatever I do, however far I travel, it will always be right behind me.

My captor was still there. They watched as I blinked and absorbed all that was around me. Then offered me water to swill my mouth with. I accepted and watched as it swirled amidst the other liquid when I spat it out.

They said something then. I didn't hear the words. They echoed and they were muffled in a way that words could never be. What I did hear was the voice. It could have been Nick's, or Maria's, or Wanda's, or Sam's. Maybe it was Steve's.

Maybe they were all there. Maybe the echoes weren't echoes, just other voices. The shadows moved and more blurry figures stepped into view before dissolving.

Ash choking the air.

Covering every surface.

It stuck to me, settled into the sticky red liquid so I was nothing but a collage of blood and ash.

My ledger.

That's all it was.

Blood and ash.

When I woke it was to shaking and the patented Rogers furrowed brow of concern. I'm not sure if I managed to form a few words, if I did they were incoherent because the concern flickered to confusion for a micro-second.

The first word I remember saying was "Steve."

"I'm here, Nat," was his reply. He lifted me up as he sat on the sofa then held me close as I clawed the rest of the way out of my nightmare. He squeezed my shoulders, rubbed my arms and brushed aside the hair sticking to my face.

It was only when I heard the gentle thud thud thud that I realised my head rested on his chest. I thought about moving but I couldn't. The visions were still there. Imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

I stayed.

"This is why I don't sleep anymore," I said.

His laugh was small and polite, but it was enough.

His heartbeat was normal. Mine was fast.

His heart was calm. Mine was frantic.

So I clung to him without knowing what I was doing. I ignored the taste of salt on my lips because I wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears.

I held on to him and listened to his heart, soaked in the calm.

I held on to him because I was glad he was flesh and bone and in front of me.

That he was still alive.

* * *

**17 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

Tony phoned yesterday. Said I was cordially invited to dinner with him, Pepper and Rhodey. I don't feel up to it. Rhodey said he was going, though. I don't feel so bad for turning them down.

* * *

**19 July 2018**

I haven't slept since Steve rescued me from my dreams.

I haven't felt like this since I first defected from the Red Room. When every trip to the land of nod would result in a visit from Madame B, or Ivan, or myself. All the parts I wanted to bury deep that always found a way of resurfacing. All those things I did that I could never be forgiven for.

Instead I work all hours. If I'm not looking at the screens at my desk I'm walking the corridors, shoulders hunched over as I squint at the tablet pretty much glued to my hands.

Steve's made a habit of popping by at odd times, I think he's checking in to make sure I'm not being bothered by those pesky dreams.

We've settled into an easier companionship now. I'm not so pissed about all the Avenger responsibility being dumped on me and he's not so huffy about the paperwork I send his way.

Updates come in from Nebula and Rocket about three times a week. They've checked in on a couple of places and it's pretty much like Earth. Whoever's left is banding together to do their best in the face of disaster. But behind that cracking facade there are those who are doing their worst.

Carol sends something once a week, sometimes twice. Reporting the same as the other two. She's keeping her ear to the ground but the only thing she's really heard is that the Kree are staying as secretive as they always have, some are scared they might make a move to conquer other worlds as they did before. This time taking advantage of the disorder left behind after the Snap.

I hear from Okoye and Rhodey every day.

I've even heard from Wong, things seem to be ticking along nicely with him.

* * *

**21 July 2018**

Never let it be said Russians are easy to please.

For as long as they hammered and clamoured, I couldn't wait for Rocket and Nebula's side project to be over.

Now they were gone it was easier to concentrate. There was no grumpy Thor complaining about the persistent noise, nor did I find myself clutching my head, trying to keep a headache at bay.

And yet, I can't help but miss the sound. It always reminded me there was life within our walls. The silence made it easy to forget there was anyone else around. Sometimes it's easy to believe I'm the only one left.

I zone out sometimes.

Taken me a while to figure out I'm listening for their work. Waiting for the hammering, muffled swearing and the clash of metal on metal as the fur ball loses his temper. I listen for it all. It never comes.

Instead I've started trying to fill the empty space with other things. Thought it might be a good idea to get everyone together for a meal.

Not the most successful experiment.

The guys turned up, including Thor, who was wasted. If I ever get hold of that raccoon again he's gonna have hell to pay.

"I smell Mexican," Rhodey said as he strolled in, clapping his hands together. He failed to notice Thor giving the food on the hob an extra long inspection, his hand just inches away from the heat.

"You'll smell burning Asgardian in a minute." I nodded towards Thor, hands full with everything I took to the table. With Steve's help he managed to bring the god to his chair. Bruce helped me lay the table.

We ate. We spoke. The meal passed without incident.

"We must have drink," Thor said, stumbling to his feet, I'm sure, with every intention of searching the communal kitchen for alcohol.

"Thor, I'm not sure that's a good idea," Bruce followed him.

"But I think it is, Banner. It makes me feel better," Thor clapped a hand on Bruce's shoulder and held the other to his own heart, "isn't that what we're trying to do? Make ourselves feel better. Tell me, man of science, if this is not a good idea, what is?"

Bruce looked over his shoulder to the rest of us, at a complete loss.

"Uh, I. Umm," the scientist stepped back and scratched his head, still coming up short. Rhodey looked at the table, keeping his gaze away from the two guys in the kitchen. Steve was looking right at them but the question was clear on his face; would him getting involved make things worse? I found myself wishing for a high-strength tranquiliser to diffuse the situation.

"It takes time Thor," were the words Bruce landed on, "you won't heal if you keep on hiding from what's making you drink."

"I do not hide," Thor punched his way through one of the cupboards, "I am Asgardian. A god to some of your Midgardian peers. If I do not wish to feel this pain then I should not have to."

"Thor," Steve tried, finding an answer to his question. The god gave a huge roar. For a moment I thought the Hulk was in the room, the last thing we needed.

"Fine. Tell me what to do instead. I am Thor. I am mighty. I can do anything. I don't need to imbibe your Midgardian concoctions." He span around the room and almost hit Bruce in the head with his wild arms. His eyes found the lake outside, glinting in the sunset. "Perhaps a swim, my brothers and sister. Let us take our frivolities outside. Bask in the sun and ask the water to cleanse us of this failure, which reeks so strong."

The halls echoed with his footsteps and we followed them as fast as we could. My gut wrenched with each one. His pain festered with every day that passed and I had no idea how to clean the wound.

By the time we reached the lake he was jumping in, fully clothed. We stood by and watched as he punched and kicked the water with all the force he had.

"Uhh, can he swim?" Rhodey asked.

"I think so," was Bruce's small answer.

"Good. Cos, I'm not going in there. He might call down lightening or something. And, you know," he gestured to the lower half of his body, "legs."

As we watched we each broke a little more. We all hid how we were feeling, but this pain was something Thor was not used to. It was piled on top of all the grief he felt for his family and his people. All his life he had succeeded. With Thanos all he tasted was failure.

He refused to relieve himself of even a little bit of that responsibility. He'd forgotten that he was not the only one to fight the Titan and fall.

It sucked that the only comfort to offer him was that he didn't fail alone. He failed with the rest of us.

He was so broken and so shattered, in a way none of us had seen. I'm sure there's still more to see.

Rhodey and Steve disappeared inside. Someone was trying to get hold of the Avengers, they decided to answer.

Bruce and I watched over Thor.

"You know, when I said I missed talking to you, I didn't mean we should catch up like this," Bruce ducked his head as he spoke.

I snorted. His sense of humour was as dry as mine. It was something I came to appreciate in the days we spent living at the Avengers Tower. Before Ultron ruined everything.

We didn't say anything more. Neither one in the mood to make conversation between splashes of water and boastful god-of-thunder stories. Instead, we stood on the shore and watched as the waves and ripples shot away from the drunken god.

* * *

**24 July 2018**

There was a call from Pepper today. She's invited me over for dinner.

First Tony, then her. A week apart. I know a conspiracy when I smell one, I am paranoid after all.

All this work though, and a few missions in the field, I had to turn her down.

* * *

**27 July 2018**

We had our first team call today.

Pleased to report Rocket and Nebula's modifications are holding up. They're somewhere I don't know how to spell. So is Carol.

Okoye gave her report on anything they've noticed in the territories surrounding Wakanda. There's an increase in arms deals and desperate poachers taking risks. No world-ending threats, so far.

Rhodey heard word of more human trafficking, said he'll follow up on any leads and let me know. Steve sat silent behind the desk as I leant against it. Arms folded.

"Each planet I've been to has their own problems," Carol said, "so far nothing I've been able to link together. It doesn't look like there's a larger plot afoot at the moment."

"Same here," Rocket added.

"Right," I sighed, "thank you, all of you. It's good to keep an eye on everything. Do what you can and keep the rest of us in the loop."

There was a chorus of goodbyes and the room was a little darker once the holograms disappeared.

"Got nothing to say?" I asked the soldier.

He moved forward in his seat and I adjusted my position so I was half sat on the desk. There were bags under his eyes and he needed to shave again. I wondered what waited for him when he tried to sleep and I almost missed the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Yeah, actually. I was going through our stuff, the bits we left behind after Germany and I found this in yours."

From somewhere hidden underneath the desk he pulled out a name plate. Agent Romanoff was engraved on it.

"You were going through my stuff?"

"Well, it was just sat there on top begging me to ask the question."

"And what question would that be?"

At some point during the exchange I became aware of two presences, they hung back not wanting to interrupt. Or, more likely, not wanting to enter into an argument. I recognised the cologne anywhere and I thanked him in the back of my mind for not barging in. Even if it was his property. The light in Steve's eyes had been missing for a while, and as he teased me I saw a little glimmer of it again.

"Why on Earth do you have it?"

Steve held it between his hands so I was faced with my name. I took it from him and weighed it in my palms.

"Clint," I said. The atmosphere in the room changed with that single word. I didn't mean for it to, but there was an emotion lurking beneath that we all seemed to be attuned to these days. I didn't take my eyes off the name plate as I explained.

"There was a mission nine months after I defected, back in our Strike Team Delta days before Coulson managed to get a handle on us," the mission was still clear in my head and my leg throbbed as an unnecessary reminder, "everything that could go wrong did. Long story short, we were in an abandoned hospital, just us two. Dozens of hostiles taken out, fires blazing from grenades and evidence of gunfire everywhere. We were crouched in the entrance, just needed to secure the area outside. He'd taken shrapnel to the shoulder and I had a nasty cut above my eye. Both of us were pretty much at the end of our tether. But he saw a kid on the ground outside. He didn't even think about it, just ran straight out to her. Left me to clear up the mess his thoughtlessness created.

"There were three men out there waiting for us. I got the first two right between the eyes as I ran after Clint, who was crouched over the girl. He got the third after I pushed him to the ground and caught a bullet in my leg. The kid disappeared and Clint called for an extraction. He applied pressure to the wound but his hands slipped and it hurt like hell. Running into a trap like that and failing at basic first aid, I told him he was going to be the death of me. He just laughed and said 'of course not. You're going to live long enough to be shuffled into a desk job with Shield and wish I had been.' I was still in the medical wing when he gave this to me. For my desk."

I stopped talking and thought more about the mission. It was a pretty run-of-the-mill one for us. There was worse to come, there had even been worse before. But it was one of the ones that stuck with me.

It was a milestone I never thought I'd achieve. The first time I'd put someone else's life before my own. With all the years of training and conditioning and bullying, it had taken nine months with Shield and one intelligent man with a family doing one stupid thing to undo it all. With that mission my survival wasn't my only priority anymore.

We both needed to come back.

And, no one knew this though I think Clint suspected, that name plate was the first thing anyone had ever given me. In the hospital bed I remember thinking it was silly. Then the next thought to flash through my head was '_but_ _it's_ _mine_'.

Steve covered my hand with his, when I looked in his eyes that glimmer of light was gone.

"We'll find him, Nat. We'll bring him home."

I wanted to say his home is ash and dust, floating in the air like so many other people's. There was no finding him until there was a home to bring him back to.

I threw the plate in the bin and stood, letting my mask click back into place.

"Better stop lurking in the shadows, you two. Otherwise we might think we have intruders."

"Sorry to interrupt the pity party," Tony said, stepping from the shadows and into our line of view.

"Tony," Pepper said, shaking her head and looking apologetic.

Steve stiffened. His surprise was a sign of how off his game he was. He was almost as good at sensing people as I was, and Tony wasn't the most subtle. The last time they saw each other was at the memorial. Where they were frosty but civil.

Neither one looked at the other.

"Come on, Pep, you know she'd be the first to admit that's what this is."

"Guilty," I said as I hugged the taller woman.

"Sorry about him," Pepper said, behind me there was a creaking of the chair as Steve hefted himself from it and a small clunk that only the most practised ear could pick up. I knew that once I turned around the name plate would be out of the bin and sitting front and centre on the desk. "How are you, Steve?"

"Oh, I'm - you know. I should probably go, I have someone's paperwork to do." He gave me a sidelong glance on his way towards the door.

"I gave it to you. It's your paperwork, Steve. Like I said, one of the perks of this whole thing," I called after him.

"Oh yeah, you're in charge of all this now," Tony walked along the floor to ceiling windows, sweeping his arms around him to take in the whole room. "What is it they say? With great power comes-"

"A hell of a lot of work," I cut in. He laughed.

"Yeah, something like that."

"What brings you both all the way here?"

"We invited you to dinner," Pepper said, "and Tony's a little hurt you turned us down both times."

"Yeah, so I figured we'd give you an invitation you couldn't refuse."

"You mean, turn up and not give me a choice?"

"Pretty much. You reckon Bruce is free? I spoke to him this morning and he said he was busy, but I think he could use a break."

"Leave him be," I said, "he's on the brink of figuring something out and I don't think he'll thank anyone for steering him off track, even if it is for food."

"Guess it's just us then," Pepper said, "Nat, come with me. I wanted to go over a couple of things before we eat."

They stayed a few hours. Pepper and I worked together and it made a change from the email tag and interrupted phone calls. I offered to cook but Pepper made me go for a walk around the compound with Tony.

"He needs to burn some energy off otherwise he'll be a nightmare in the car on the way home," was her reasoning.

They went and everything I'd put to the back of my mind came hurtling back. There was a mission to prepare. Intel from Rhodey to go over. Information from our three galactic travellers to sift through. Another proposal for WOOPS and so much more.

With all that saturating my thoughts I didn't notice the change to my desk straight away. When I did, I stopped short. Steve had indeed pulled the discarded plate from the bin, it sat on my desk, half of it covered in paper sellotaped to cover the word 'Agent'. As I stepped closer I saw Tony's scrawling script.

He'd written 'Director'.

I laughed.

I've left it where it is. When we do bring Clint back I can tell him he was right. That I did live long enough to get a desk job. That he wasn't the death of me after all.

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading :)**

**As always, keep yourself safe and healthy. And thank you to everyone helping others.**


	16. Chapter 16

"I think I'm losing it," Clint muttered to himself in the privacy of the barn. He paused and realised he was waiting for someone to answer, "yeah, I'm definitely losing it."

The night was so old it could almost be called a new day. From what Clint saw through the open barn door, the moon was shining bright. There was more than just his lamplight keeping him company.

It was colder than he expected. Enough to make him regret rushing out of the house without picking up extra layers. Then again, he hadn't planned to work through the night. Truth be told, he only noticed the cold when his fingers trembled so much that the pieces of the music box tumbled out of his grip. The tremors were violent and more than once he had to get on his hands and knees to seek out the escaped bits.

The light from the lamp and the moon weren't very helpful.

Clint was driven to the shadows of the barn by the memories of Nat. Or rather, Nat's memories. As he read that last entry the only thing swirling through his head were Fury's words from earlier that day.

He soon realised he didn't give a shit if his emotions were clear on his face. The only thing he gave a shit about, as he read about the name plate, was that she was right. He had been the death of her.

And he needed to get away from the proof of that.

But, in that respect, the barn also wasn't very helpful. In here she'd tried to help him fix the tractor. She played hide and seek with the kids. She endured his husbandly and fatherly venting. She snuck in and stuck to the shadows before scaring the living crap out of him. These things would knock against the walls he'd put up around his consciousness, leave wisps of memory and he sharpened his focus on the task at hand.

Rebuild Lila's music box.

As long as he worked on that he could keep the memories away.

That's what he told himself.

But, of course, he was wrong.

The thing about the mission at the abandoned hospital that was most clear to him was after she was shot. Blood gushed out of her leg and he fumbled the first aid. Most people would yell out or push the offender away.

Not Natasha.

She didn't even hitch a breath.

No, the thing that had branded itself so deep into his mind, that it could slip past any defences he put up, was the look of annoyance on her face that anchored itself there. It was the first expression of hers he could properly read. It was something along the lines of 'what the hell, moron. I've just taken a bullet for you and you can't even be bothered to stem the bleeding correctly.'

He burst out laughing at the time. Three dead bodies circled them, more were in the hospital behind, and some of the smaller fires had merged together to form something much fiercer. For all intents and purposes there wasn't much to laugh about. But he was high on the adrenaline of near death and it felt ridiculous, yet oh so right, that she was annoyed with him.

They laughed their way onto the evac jet.

He wished it could make him laugh now.

It was a memory Clint couldn't fight, so he did his best to work through it instead. All the cogs, gears, and bits and bobs found their way to each other again. The archer was diligent in his work as he mapped the configuration of the music box in his mind. Once he was certain he had everything and nothing was beyond repair, he reconstructed the box. Fingers brushed over the inscription he couldn't read.

Every time he took a moment to regain focus or to force the cramp to release his hand, that look of annoyance flashed into view.

Just as the first light of day lapped against the barn, Clint straightened from his hunched position over the workbench. The box was in one piece again, though he didn't dare test it until he was sure the glue was dry. Which gave him more than a few empty moments, when he could almost hear the clang of the name plate being thrown into the bin.

What did he expect? It was her way of dealing with things she didn't know how to deal with.

Physical pain, not a problem. It was one of the most consistent things of her childhood. Mental pain, as much a description of her early years as physical. Emotional hurt, well now. there's something she wasn't prepared for. It stumped her, and things that stumped her got dumped.

He was just thankful that Steve and Tony, in their own way, told her not to give up hope. Not to give up on him. As much as she might have wanted to, she never did. Instead of seeing the name plate as a symbol of what their friendship once was, she saw it as a beacon of what it could become once again. A return to the easy jokes between them, the thousands of anecdotes they'd collected together, and the ability to hold their hands up and say 'yeah, you were right'.

Clint's throat tightened and the eyes that had burned from exhaustion just moments before were now burning with the intensity of the emotion that welled up within him. As sick as he was of the unplanned crying sessions, he didn't want the day to come that the mere thought of Natasha didn't turn him to a blubbering mess. He was of the firm belief that he deserved to hurt for the rest of his days, and if tears weren't so forthcoming in the future he was afraid that meant he wouldn't be hurting.

"No, Clint," he said to himself and the shadows, "you're not losing it. You've already lost it." He slapped his thighs to bring him back to focus. There was a dull ache in both his legs and fingers that said, in no uncertain terms, there was more pain to feel as soon as he defrosted a little.

He opened the lid of the box and listened to the song. It was far from perfect. Broken and jumpy, but it was the best he could do. There was a chance Lila might throw it on the floor just because he touched it, but he was hoping her love for her aunt would outweigh any distaste she felt for him at the moment.

As he listened, the dark thoughts tried to come back to him, they circled and snapped and yelled words that reminded him of what a terrible person he'd become. But there was a squeak, maybe more of a grunt, as Liho jumped onto the bench and sniffed at his handiwork.

"Careful, you devil cat. Don't wanna get your nose stuck in some drying glue."

She turned to look at him, eyes reflecting the lamplight and Clint saw his own miserable face in them. She blinked, just the once. And before he realised what had happened the cat pressed her head to his forehead. A fleeting moment of comfort before she leapt to the ground and strolled out the door.

Leaving Clint behind to wonder if Liho took after Nat or if Nat took after Liho.

A couple of hours later, Laura came down the stairs to find her husband curled up on the sofa. His eyes were closed but the bags under them said they hadn't been for long.

She shushed everyone who came downstairs or into the kitchen, and scooped Nate up just before he jumped on his father's head. She figured it was much nicer for him to wake up to the smell of bacon than it was to an attack from his youngest child, who was way too energetic in the mornings.

And when everyone came round to the journals again, Laura took to the book from Clint's tired hands and let him rest his voice for the day.

* * *

**30 July 2018**

Hi Tom,

Have I mentioned Cassie Lang to you before?

I'm not sure. And I'm not really up for taking a trip down memory lane to find out, either. But whatever. Her dad is Scott Lang, otherwise known as Ant-man. Before the Snap he served out a two-year stint under house arrest for siding with Steve against the Accords.

A couple of days after he was granted his freedom, he disappeared like half of the universe. So did Scott's partner, Hope van Dyne, his ex-wife Maggie and her fiancé Jim Paxton.

Leaving Cassie with no one but Paxton's aging parents.

Steve followed the proceedings from afar, he feels responsible for getting the guy locked up for two years. The day the Paxton's were assigned as Cassie's legal guardians a sense of relief settled over him.

In the back of our minds it was settled. No need to think about the logistics of the thing. Until, of course, they paid us a visit today. Well, the Paxton's did. Cassie was kept far away from the people that led her father further astray than he'd ever been before.

They buzzed at the front gate and Friday let them in, after a quick conference with me. It took them five minutes to drive the meandering, yet otherwise clear, road from the gate to the compound entrance. Their car looked like it was the victim of more than one vandal.

I met them as they clambered out of the vehicle. Steve not far behind, intrigued by the novelty of people we don't know.

Greying and wrinkled, their backs held straight with a dignity that belied the strong will hidden beneath their advanced years. Mr Paxton shuffled his way into the building, his wife holding tight to his elbow.

They kept each other steady and eyed us in a way I don't think Steve was used to. Hesitant to trust, daring us to try something. But, you know, he is a former fugitive so he's gonna have to get used to it.

When they were settled down with a pot of tea between them, they showed us a photo of Cassie. The same curve of Scott's eyes settled around her own.

"Scott fought by your side," Mr Paxton said. He looked at Steve, hard.

"Yes sir," Steve said as he refused to flinch away from the gaze.

The elderly man moved his eyes to me.

"And you kicked his ass."

"Yes sir," I said and tried not to smirk at the ever so panicked stiffening of Steve's jaw. Mrs Paxton sipped her tea and Mr Paxton laughed.

"Can't say I haven't shared in that desire," he said, "but, the fact of the matter is, he helped you out with a fight that wasn't his and paid the price."

"I owe him," Steve said in that solemn way of his that made me want to roll my eyes.

"Miss Romanoff," Mrs Paxton said, setting her cup on the table. I straightened without thinking and I wanted to scoff at myself, but it was a long time since someone had addressed me like that. "You're involved with that organisation looking after those orphaned by the events in Africa."

"I am."

She nodded and the two of them looked at each other, sharing thoughts and words with a single glance. If I ever doubted telepathy existed in this world of gods, monsters, magic and aliens, I would have believed in it then.

"It doesn't please me to say this," the woman said with a sigh behind her words, "but we need your help. Before what happened our life was very frugal. We had what we needed and nothing more. And we love Cassie, she's a sweet girl, but she refuses to leave her home. We can't afford to keep two houses."

"And we're old," Mr Paxton carried on, "we won't always be around and who will look after her then?"

Question: Who was the least fortunate in all of this? Those who had a lot to lose or those who never had much to begin with and ended up losing everything?

The kids from the port, they didn't have much before the Snap. Maybe like one parent each who disappeared and couldn't stop them from falling into the enterprising hands of human traffickers. Their whole way of life crumbled away.

Then there was Cassie. She was different, three parents who doted on her. She went to school, had friends and was safe. Then that entire net of people went poof. Her safety was in question, even after her guardianship was transferred over to the two people sat in front of me. Life as she knew it was gone.

Answer: They're all as fucking unlucky as each other.

"Scott was one of us," Steve said, "how can we help?"

They didn't know. Not for sure. They just knew they needed help.

They stayed for half an hour, exchanged a few stories about Cassie and filled in a few more details on their situation. The financial side of things were dire. They had their pensions to live on, which weren't that great. And since death was so difficult to prove unless the disappearance was caught on camera, insurance companies weren't jumping to the rescue.

Which is why, by the time they got back to the Lang-Paxton household they would find everything paid for and in their name, on the condition that ownership was to be transferred to Cassie once she was old enough.

Sometimes it's good to have friends in high places.

If only it was so easy dealing with the Barton farm.

* * *

**31 July 2018**

Another group of assholes made it onto our radar. Steve was going stir crazy so I sent him off to do some recon.

Looks like they're trafficking drugs instead of people.

Meanwhile, I'm looking into property. There's one company that's come into a lot of real estate in the last couple of months. I'm not convinced it's all legal. There are reports of Snap survivors turfed out of their homes because it was their other half, or their parents who owned it. And the owners were dusted.

It's the same old story. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

* * *

**2 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

I don't really have anything new to say at the moment.

Nothing's changing.

Thor still spends all of his time in his room. Steve is still in that phase of trying to act normal. Bruce is still buried behind a wall of books and paper. From some of the frenzied pacing I've witnessed I think he's nearing a breakthrough.

I've never got that about science. Yeah, sure, I can understand the theories and follow along as my genius friends spout off their excitement in words most people can't understand. But that feeling of knowing you're close, knowing that any second now an answer is going to pop up behind one complicated equation or another. How can you possibly know?

I suppose it's like combat. You spend however long fighting your opponent and even though they keep putting up a fight you know there's a way through. You just have to be strategic; think about the placement of your fists, your footing and guess how the enemy will react. And when they start doing what you want them to, well then you know you're about to have a breakthrough of your own. This one, right through their defences.

But anyway, there isn't anything to write about. And still, I feel the need to write. Sometimes I think if I'd always done this I would have settled in better right at the start. When I defected, just before I went through the deprogramming, Shield assigned me a therapist. She was a nervous little thing, jumped every time I moved and only calmed when she realised the cuffs were staying on. Glad I never told her it was easy to get out of them.

In one of the sessions she suggested I start a diary, or write a letter to four-year old me about the intervening years. I laughed, cursed at her in my mother tongue, and managed to summon the willpower not to spit at her.

She never suggested it again. I think my laugh unnerved her more than the sour expression I reserved just for those sessions.

Maybe I should have listened.

Or maybe I filed the idea away for a time I needed it most.

Who knows.

Did I mention Tony got a little tipsy the other night when he and Pepper forced me to have dinner with them? There are two types of alcohol fuelled Tony Stark. The shit-we-could-all-die-tomorrow-so-better-live-it-up-tonight version and the everything's-sad-so-so-sad one.

The former was more prominent before the Avengers, when he blew stuff up just because he could. I was lucky enough to witness one of these appearances when I spied on him for Shield. The latter started after Wanda screwed with his mind. It also happened to be the side of him that came out as the evening matured.

We tried to keep the tone bright, knowing there was too much despair lapping at the three of us to even consider dipping our toes in that particular body of water. But something pushed him over the edge and he started talking about Peter Parker.

I only met the kid before the fight at the airport. T'challa was concerned about his age. I didn't even notice until it was pointed out. Sometimes I forget it's not normal for kids to be involved in the murky going ons of the world. He was a bright kid, dealt a shit hand in life and he refused to buckle. While we were on the run I caught the story about what went down in New York with him and the Toomes guy. It was impressive.

Listening to Tony berate himself over the kid dying in his arms was unbearable. The grimace from Pepper was all I needed to know it wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Whatever we said he wouldn't listen, and tipsy Tony cast a maudlin cloud over the table. Neither of us could blame him. We all lean towards the maudlin right now.

Ever since they left that night, I've been wondering what it was like for Laura and the kids. I think about what they might have been doing. Were any of them alone? Were they all together? Did they try and hold on like Peter did? Or did they just disappear in a breath of wind?

I try not to write about them often, it's too painful. But I know Laura would have twigged what was happening and worried for the children's safety. I can imagine Nate running around and coming to a standstill as he realised part of his arm was gone and, as he watched, even more of it was going. Cooper would have panicked, who wouldn't? It's just hard to imagine. He's always so laid back, it takes a lot to ruffle his feathers. Even with my teasing.

And then there's Lila. She acts tough because she is tough. I think she inherited it from both her parents. Underneath that though, there's a fear of not being in control. If she had a chance to notice what was happening to her, the panic would have been full blown. If that was the case, I hope she had someone there to comfort her like Peter did.

* * *

**3 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

Got to beat up some bad guys today.

That drug trafficking ring Steve was looking into.

Fisk is a pile of dust with enemies to spare and petty criminals are ruling the streets. His territory snapped up quick, but not everyone is happy. Whether they've missed out or they think they should have more.

Steve and I spent a couple of hours letting our rage out on the men. Then we threw them behind bars. A short-term solution. There were always two more people ready to fill up the space left by one. Still, mini-power vacuums everywhere was better than having someone rise to the top.

* * *

**4 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

I told Rocket that people on this planet were scared of me.

If those same people caught me tasting wedding cakes with Pepper, would they still be scared?

Apparently, her taste buds are going haywire and she doesn't trust Tony not to go for something insane just because he can. So she's enlisted my help with all food related wedding planning.

They're getting married next month.

It was going to be super fancy with all the thrills and frills you'd expect to come with the event of the year.

Then the Snap happened and they both felt going big wasn't appropriate anymore. Something intimate and personal was called for. It's going to be at their home, beside the lake at midday. A handful of people will be there.

I think they sometimes feel guilty that they're even going ahead with it. But in times of such adversity, it takes real strength to find something to celebrate.

And Tony and Pepper have always been a couple of the strongest people I know.

* * *

**7 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

Went on a field trip today. Had to go to a bank then see a lawyer about the farm. Clint has become Schrödinger's Archer.

Sort of.

Dead enough to put his property back on the market. Not dead enough for his will to be released.

Vintage Clint.

I am not letting someone else own their home. Either I would buy it or I would inherit it. I'm not being presumptuous about the latter. Clint gave me the heads up once that if anything ever happened to him and his family, the farm was mine. We often got that morbid. Hard not to when you faced death on an almost daily basis.

Either way, I plan to sign the ownership over to them, as soon as they're back.

When I got back to the compound I stepped out of the car and watched as a small ship hurtled from the sky. It slowed just before it touched down and landed on the grass with more grace than I expected. I took a moment to imagine the sheer panic unfolding in secret facilities across the world as they tracked the UFO entering the orbit and making a beeline for America. I wondered if there was a sigh of relief as they realised where it was heading.

"False alarm guys, it's just those bloody Avengers scaring the shit out of us," some desk-bound scientist yelled in my head as a hatch opened and someone started to descend. It wasn't the ship Rocket and Nebula had, so I didn't expect them. And I doubted it was Carol, it wasn't her style.

I made my way over. If they meant any harm they would have shot me down before landing. A woman alighted and patted the back of the spacecraft as it closed itself up. She looked bone weary and was a little unsteady on her feet. A blue cloak billowed behind her and a sword hung at her side.

"This your place?" She called across the space between us and nodded at the compound.

"Sort of."

Blue cloak, sword, and white armour. This was the woman who helped Thor and Bruce on Sakaar.

"Thor in there?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I need to talk with him. But first, I need rest." She held her hand out, awkward as if she wasn't one for such niceties. "Most people call me Valkyrie."

I shook her hand and said "most people call me Natasha."

"Ah, the Black Widow," she saw the question in my eyes and added, "Thor speaks fondly of his Midgardian friends. You once outwitted the god of mischief himself."

"Wasn't that hard."

Our visitor is resting now. I can just tell she's going to make an entrance tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys, hope you're all safe and well.**

**I hadn't planned to bring Valkyrie into it but then she sort of turned up and fits in.**

**Anyway, sorry for the delay with this chapter, I had some trouble with it. The next one will be up next week.**


	17. Chapter 17

**8 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

Never stand near two Asgardians when they get into a disagreement. That's the wisdom I bring you today.

Gathered and delivered at the great cost of breathing without aching ribs and walking without a limp.

First thing this morning, everything was fine. Well, a little odd, because Bruce had crawled out of his deep research mode and haunted the kitchen dining area. Steve and I walked past, discussing a potential mission we would both go on. We heard the splutter as Bruce choked on the steaming coffee. He chucked the contents down the sink, rinsed his cup and looked around for tea. Even his extreme tiredness would not convert him to the bitter bliss of coffee.

"Welcome back to the world," I said as Steve and I walked in. Deciding a caffeine break was a good idea. We'd both been up for several hours. He flopped down on the table with a sigh and just about managed to stop himself from slumping onto the table itself.

"I don't know why I do this to myself," Bruce muttered, eyes half closed.

Steve patted him on the back as he gathered all the breakfast condiments he could find. I stocked and restocked the toaster until there was a pile of toast worthy enough of a super soldier, a world class assassin, and scientist with seven PHDs, who also happened to house a giant green rage monster.

I set it in the middle of the table, which takes a lot of skill, let me tell you. A pile of toast has less stability than a much devastated, yet somehow still vertical, tower in Jenga.

I grabbed a slice and smothered it in butter, claimed the newspaper sitting unattended and sat, swinging my feet up onto the table, away from any food.

"Pass the peanut butter," Bruce asked. I nudged it over with my foot. "Do you always have to have your feet on the table?"

"I do," I answered the haggard scientist.

"Why?"

"Pick your battles, Bruce," Steve said.

"An expression of my freedom," I shrugged, I kept my eyes on the paper and gave the guy nothing to work with. In my peripheral I caught the opening and closing of his mouth and had to work to keep from smirking. Even after all these years, he never quite knew how to react.

There were footsteps in the hall that both Steve and I heard. He hadn't met Valkyrie yet but I'd given him the heads up. His eyes darted to the door, eager to see this other person from Thor's world.

Bruce heard nothing, he was still too focused on finding a reply. It was only when she was in the doorway and speaking that he realised anyone else was around. It took him a few seconds longer to understand who it was.

"Hey, don't I know you? I feel like I know you," she said, pointing at him.

Sheer confusion coloured his features and he almost choked on his toast. That would have been a sad way for him to go down. Renowned scientist, host of the Hulk, bested by bread.

"Valkyrie? You're here? What are you doing -? What's wrong? How-?"

"Calm it, not-so-big guy, let a woman get some food first." Steve shuffled along to make space for her next to Bruce. "We haven't met yet. I'm Valkyrie, in case you missed it in his little outburst," she said as she passed him.

"I'm Steve."

"Ah, the man who slept in ice."

"Apparently Thor's been telling stories about us," I said at the question in Steve's eyes and on his lips.

"Have you- have you met?" Bruce asked, looking between me and our guest, "when did you get here? What brings you all this way?"

"Why so flustered, doc?" I said.

Steve hid his grin behind his cup while Valkyrie didn't bother to hide hers. Bruce, meanwhile, stammered.

"I-I'm not flustered. Just asking a question."

"Asking more than one," she said as she pulled the dwindling pile of toast towards her and swiped a few slices, "if you must know, I'm here representing my people who are floating around space wondering when their missing king is going to swoop in and help them. Don't suppose you know if his majesty is around?"

"He never leaves," Bruce muttered.

"Friday," I said. Valkyrie gave me an odd look but it was nothing compared to the shock and alarm she felt when the Irish twang floated through the room.

"Yes, Director Romanoff?" Bruce mouthed the word 'director' to Steve who just half-smiled and gestured for him to wait.

"What's Thor up to?"

"He's sleeping in his quarters."

"Thanks."

"Not a problem, Director."

I sighed, handed Steve the paper and got to my feet. "That's not my name, Friday."

"It is according to the boss. He reprogrammed me after his visit."

Tony Stark will forever be a pain in the arse.

Bruce laughed at the AI's response and I shot him a dirty look. I grabbed the remaining toast and a jar of chocolate spread to mollify the God's sweet tooth.

"Let's go wake him," I said to Valkyrie, "on the way you can fill me in on how you came to know Bruce here."

As we walked out I heard Steve chuckle and Bruce gulp down his regret at his decision to take a break from his research. Truth be told I was curious. No one had spoken much about the adventures on Sakaar. Not surprising since there were bigger problems to deal with when they got back to Earth. But, as I found out on the journey to Thor's room, our guest was a woman of few words. The details she gave were scant and most were the same as I'd already heard.

When we came to the door I knocked and called for Thor. He didn't answer straight away and it took a couple more minutes of battering my fist against the surface and the promise of food. He opened the door in nothing but his boxers, fluffy slippers, and a dressing gown shoved hastily on and not fully done up.

"Why do you bother me, Natasha?" He rubbed his eyes and focused on the person next to me. "Valkyrie, is that you?"

"Yeah. Been a while, your majesty. Mind if we come in?" She barged past Thor in a wave of sarcasm as he tightened the dressing gown, I followed in her wake before he shut the door on me.

"Breakfast," I said and put the toast and condiments on the dining table next to a half eaten roast chicken, "if you weren't planning on having leftovers, of course."

He just scowled at me, I pretended it was one of thanks.

A glance at the kitchen was enough to know he still didn't shit about the cleanliness of his quarters. It was in an even worse state than the last time I was here, which was saying something since I made him help me clean it up.

"Nice place you got here," Valkyrie said, "reminds me of where we first met."

"Hilarious," was Thor's dark reply through a mouthful of toast. Chocolate and crumbs decorated his beard. "What do you want, Brunnhilde?"

"Oooh, going with my name. Someone isn't in a friendly mood. Your people are waiting for you. Did you forget about them?"

"They are better off without me."

"Hmmm, maybe. But don't you think we've lost enough?"

Thor didn't reply. He chewed on his toast and kept his face blank. Valkyrie stayed as patient as she could, but in the end she sighed and moved on.

"We need a home, in your absence we've agreed Midgard would be as good a place as any. I'm here to also seek permission to settle as refugees. Who would I speak to?"

He nodded over at me.

"You can grant us refugee status?" She turned to me.

"I can talk to the people who can."

"That's more helpful than some people."

Thor jumped to his feet, his chair skittered back as if scared to even be touched by his shadow.

"Do not speak of me as such. I am still your king," he said. Words filling the entire room with an underlying rage.

"Then start acting like it."

Now, I have a theory that Thor's new eye is a little glitchy. I mean, far be it for me to pass judgement on some of the most advanced tech I've ever seen, but there are times when he doesn't see things that he should. I was stood to his right, the kitchen counters at my back. So, when the anger bubbled within him to a point that it could no longer be contained, I like to think that he didn't see me when he sent the circular, two-person dining table flying.

My quick reflexes were enough to turn what would have been a knockout blow into a glancing one. Granted, I still ended up on the floor, vision swimming, ribs hurting, and ankle twisted.

I didn't know what to say to him so I said nothing. Valkyrie, however didn't know how to not say something.

"Oh yeah, sure. There's the regal behaviour I know."

She joined me as I got to me feet, helping me up some of the way. I did my best not to limp or hobble but I suspect it wasn't good enough.

All day I've regretted leaving him. Of the toast, condiments, plates, cutlery and array of leftovers smashed and scattered across the floor, by far the most broken thing in the aftermath of his outburst was Thor himself.

* * *

**9 August 2018**

Hey Tom,

Things don't feel so good in the compound. Thor's anger has leeched its way through the walls and the windows and the ceiling and into the atmosphere around the building. No rain was forecast, but it hasn't stopped since yesterday morning.

Sometimes I think I should pay him a visit but then my ribs throb. Where has this desperate need to keep everyone happy come from? Sure, I want to keep the team together, that's always been my agenda. But delivering breakfast? Insisting on team meals? Reading stories?

Who the fuck am I and where's the spy who kicks ass?

All these thoughts flew through my head as I tried to work. Around me Valkyrie and Bruce were in a heated discussion. Or rather, Valkyrie was and Bruce sat on the sofa with a scientific journal resting on his lap, still open to the page he was on before he was interrupted.

"Who let him get like this? He's a slob. He's worse than you."

"I'm not a slob," Bruce said. He shifted a little and the journal tumbled to the floor in a flutter of stapled pages. He was about to pick it up when Valkyrie kicked it away in her furious pacing, unaware of what her feet had done.

I typed a little louder and turned the my music up to drown them out. My headphones might have stopped my music leaking out and bothering them, but they did not stop their voices sneaking through and bothering me.

"The other you then, not-so-big guy."

"I don't see why you need to be so angry, angry girl. He's working through a lot of guilt."

"It's just creepy when _you_ call me that."

"Guys, can you take it somewhere else," I said, throwing the headphones onto my desk. The music was just helping to bring on a headache. To be fair, if I didn't want to be interrupted I shouldn't have claimed the communal area. I just really liked the view.

"Oh, are we getting in the way of your really important work." I like people with strong wills, they're so much more interesting than those that prefer to do impressions of a doormat. But sometimes they just need to fuck off.

I was co-writing a proposal with Rhodey to get our planet's lowlife politicians to consider letting what remained of Asgard to settle on Earth. I was also reaching out to groups I knew would organise rallies and protests if the proposal was considered and turned down. It might be done the easy way, or it might be done the hard way, but no matter what, Thor's people were going to settle on this planet.

Could I have thrown that back in Valkyrie's face?

Sure.

Would it have helped?

No.

I kept my emotions in check, as the Red Room taught, and looked her in the eye. She was stressed, that much was obvious. She was angry, even the most obtuse person could see that. But she layered them on so thick because she was scared. I didn't know where that fear came from, I think it was to do with more than just Thanos, and I didn't have time to dig. So I ignored her insult.

"No one has _let_ him get like this."

"That is not the King of Asgard. He is not the man I fought beside on the Bifrost Bridge."

"That's because this man is carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders and he refuses to put it down. Keep reminding him of his failures and he'll keep fighting back."

"My people need their king," she said, she stopped her pacing and threw herself into the free space next to Bruce, who shuffled a couple of centimetres away.

"I don't doubt it," I said, "but your king needs time to get past this."

"How are you on his side? He threw a table at you."

"He what?" Bruce rejoined the conversation. "Is that why you're limping?"

"Must you always ask so many questions?" I said.

"Yeah, it's an expression of my freedom."

I laughed and he grinned. I didn't miss the look Valkyrie shot between us and I wondered once again just how they came to know each other.

It struck me then that I was just playing another role. The spy who kicked ass was still there, waiting for the right people to beat the crap out of. But she wasn't as in demand as she used to be. The person needed now was someone for others to count on. And if that meant delivering breakfast, insisting on team meals, and reading stories, then that was what I was going to do. My training at the Red Room was about finding a way to fit in. As our lives changed and evolved, so did my role within the group.

I was exactly who they needed me to be.

But, I wondered, if that was the same as who I needed me to be.

* * *

**13 August 2018**

I've gotta be honest, Tom, I expected the whole process to be a lot harder.

Rhodey's busy jumping through hoops in Washington, but he helped where he could. I like to stay away from political stuff and anything diplomatic, It's boring. But it _is_ just another name for manipulation and negotiation, which I excel at.

Writing a proposal on behalf of the Asgardians was a piece of cake compared to navigating the many pitfalls of the Avengers.

Also, another case of politicians looking for an easy win. They saw it as a way to better our defences. They've only been exposed to Thor and his brother. The image of Valkyrie in her armour and with her sword only imprinted that impression further.

Someone somewhere might have seen sense too, and realised that forging relationships with other civilisations would serve us well in the future. There's no point in standing alone when we don't have to. Especially now that we aren't.

Anyway, in case you haven't guessed. Earth said yes, what remains of Asgard can settle here.

Three guesses where abouts.

There's a village in Norway, decimated by the Snap. Not enough people left to keep it running. It makes sense, them settling in one of the homes of Norse mythology.

Maybe having his people so close will help Thor. Give him a sense of purpose again. Help him put together some of the pieces.

* * *

**14 August 2018**

Hey Tom,

Rhodey and I have sort of started a tag team to help Pepper out. Tony's getting better and it's easy to forget he's still recovering. But the fact of the matter is, he _is_ still recovering. He has therapy to go to and checkups with Bruce and his doctor. According to Pepper there are days when he just sits out on the porch and stares off into the distance and nights when he wakes up screaming, or crying.

Or both.

As much as he wants to pamper Pepper with his attention and do all the things he think he ought to do as an expectant father and groom-to-be, he just can't.

And Pepper, for all her strengths, is as stubborn as he is. Left to her own devices she would do everything by herself. But her own devices are easy to hack into if you happen to have spent your whole life in espionage and a few weeks undercover in the top tech company in the world.

I have access to her entire schedule, including doctor's appointments in her personal time and all the meetings she has at work. I may also have found a way to keep an up-to-date version of her to do list on my tablet. I've shared it all with Rhodey.

It's been a few years since I played the role of secretary, but I remember enough to understand what's important and what can be pushed back. If she needs a rest I reschedule what I can so she has enough time for a nap or even a few moments to relax. And any tasks that don't need her specifically, I split between Rhodey and I.

Pepper doesn't need us looking after her. She can handle all of this on her own, but she shouldn't have to. In the past Pepper has been in the background, looking after the chaos that was Tony Stark, then the mayhem that was the Avengers.

What's the saying, you reap what you sow? Well, she's sown a lot of kindness.

* * *

**16 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

I made time for shooting practice today.

Okay, you got me. That's a lie.

I didn't make time, I just didn't sleep.

Haven't hit the range in a while. My batons are more effective at taking down alien enemies than my guns. That's why I wanted the chance to practice. I'm fighting humans at the moment, not aliens, bullets do just fine on them.

Pleased to report there was no rust to knock off my skills.

Once upon a time every single one would have been a kill shot. There was no such thing as mercy, no need for it. If I used a bullet the intention was to kill, so those were the only ones worth practising.

Then Shield came along and, while some of my missions were termination, they preferred people were kept alive. That way, the intelligence gathering part of my job description was easier to do.

As well as having the ability to kill my marks, I needed to have the skill to cripple them in a non-lethal manner. You know, a bullet to the knee, one to the shoulder, maybe even the gut.

My practice targets were riddled with strategic holes. When I had two rounds left, they went straight through the heart and the head.

"You will win no glory against the Chitari and the Black Order with your tiny balls of metal," Thor said from against the wall. The ear protection silenced his entrance, but there was nothing they could do about the atmosphere all around him. It crackled and zapped and announced his presence in a way nothing else could. The biggest surprise came from seeing him outside of his room. I popped the guards from my ears.

"It's not always about the kill, Thor. Strategy is effective too."

"That is the sort of thing my brother would have said."

"I think that's the first wise thing I've heard you Asgardians say. Not all of us are blessed with super strength. The rest of us make do with other skills. Bullets might rarely kill them, but they still sure as hell hurt. Either I help to weaken the enemy or I distract them long enough for someone else to take the kill. The glory might not be mine, but it's still there."

He stepped forward, bringing the crackling and zapping closer, and held his hand out for one of my guns. I handed one over and gestured for him to wait a second. The targets needed replacing and the gun needed reloading. Once that was done I grabbed a pair of ear guards for Thor, his ear drums might be as super strong as the rest of him but better safe than sorry. I put mine back in place to show him how.

"I just," he started and paused, not liking the muffled quality to his voice. When he spoke again it was at a yell. "I just point and click?"

"Something like that," I laughed, "you might try aiming, too."

He emptied the clip. One bullet hit the black area, just brushing the shoulder. All the rest sailed through white space. He pulled the trigger a few more times before realising nothing else was coming out. He frowned at the gun.

"You make it look easy." He handed the gun back and relieved himself of the hated ear guards.

"I should hope so. I've been shooting for about twenty five years."

"That cannot be," he said, brow furrowing as his brain computed the information, "you would have been just a child."

Well shit. He had to choose then for one of his perceptive episodes. My own fault, I let the words slip out without even thinking. A few months ago they would never have made it to my tongue. I had to admit, though, I was a little touched that it meant something to him. I didn't think beings who lived for hundreds of years paid much mind to the swiftness of our mortality.

I just shrugged at him.

"I do not get this world."

"You know what I don't get," I said, "why you can summon lightning."

"But I am the God of Thunder."

"Exactly. Thunder. Not lightning. You should go round making loud noises, not putting on a light show."

He was stunned. Something I hadn't expected, but I was glad for it. On his face were the echoes of the days he would have laughed. Faded echoes, but they were an evidence of the old Thor and I couldn't help but smile at him.

"Are you still hurt, Natasha? From the other day."

"I'm all good."

"I apologise. I did not intend to hurt you."

"Honestly, Thor. It's okay. It was over a week ago and I've been hurt worse before."

This morning I planned to see how degraded my skills with the gun were, when lunchtime rolled around I had hope that Thor might not be so hard to reach after all.


	18. Chapter 18

**20 August 2018**

I took the day off.

Not gonna lie, Tom. It felt weird.

Me and time off, we're not things that fit together. Clint calls it a character fault, but I just don't like being idle. And, to me, spending all day long doing something that isn't useful is idle.

Maria and Coulson used to have to beg me to take time off. Most of the time they enlisted Clint's help to get me off base to 'relax'. The first time they pretended there was a mission on home soil, Clint drove us all the way to Iowa and I spent a week with him and his family on the farm.

It became their go to ploy whenever they thought I needed to take time off. I wised up to it pretty quickly, but by that point I was pretty much wrapped round Coop and Lila's little fingers, and if they were expecting me I wasn't going to disappoint them.

But on the times that I dug my heels in and insisted I keep working, Nick himself gave me my holiday marching orders. And he doesn't like getting involved in such menial matters. I used that time to hole up in one of my safe houses and improve my skill set. Only after a long day of my own brand of relaxing did I curl up on the sofa with a book and a glass of whatever was to hand.

Which is my very longwinded way of saying that me taking the time off to go shopping for a bridesmaid dress was even weirder.

Don't worry, I won't bore you with the details. I don't need to relive the experience any time soon. All you need to know is that it took far too long and I think it's topped my list of most horrific tortures. First of all my hair was a problem (my shade of blonde didn't quite go with the colour Pepper had in mind for the dress), once we found a way around that the scar on my shoulder (courtesy of the Winter Soldier, that guy shoots me a lot) terrorised Pepper into giving up her vision of a strapless dress in favour of a single strap that would cover the ugly blemish. We found the answer, and it didn't look bad. But the expression on Pepper's face after all the hassle of finding something else was enough to make me feel guilty for getting shot.

I won't get started on the shoes. Let's just say I've had better times freefalling from helicopters.

Rhodey and I were the only other members of the wedding party, I wondered if he and Tony would have as much trouble.

With my dress sorted, the end of the day found us in a room too pink and fluffy for my taste. For Pepper's too, but there's just no accounting for tacky decor.

She stood in the middle of it surrounded by mirrors, pressing her hands to her stomach. The dress she wore was simple, and all the more beautiful for it. She fell in love with it the moment she put it on. When she thought no one was looking, she swayed to get the gown moving and the happiest smile spread across her face before turning into something more along the lines of surprise.

"Oh," she said and brought her hands to her stomach again.

"What's wrong?" I was up and by her side in an instant, aware that, for the past few years, fate has been nothing but a cruel mistress.

"No, nothing," she breathed, "nothing's wrong. Here." She grabbed my hand and placed it beneath hers. Her hands were warm and the fabric of the dress was smooth. I froze at the intimacy of the gesture. It spoke of a level of trust I wasn't used to. A level I didn't know existed between us, and one I wasn't sure I deserved after everything that happened between me and Tony.

"I think I felt the baby move," she said, her voice low as if she would scare it away otherwise. Nothing happened and she held her breath as we continued to wait. Seconds hung in the air as thick as the flowery fragrance they pumped into the room, witness to the strangest stakeout I'd ever been on.

"There," she clutched my hand tighter and moved it to where her other had been, giddy with the joy of what was happening within her, "did you feel it?"

I shook my head. "Is it the first time you have?"

"Yeah, it's like nothing I thought it would be. It's amazing." She let me take my hand back but stayed as she was for a few more seconds, the smile still on her face. "I guess this dress has double approval then."

As she went to get changed I perched on the arm of one of the chairs, learning my lesson from earlier that if you sat it swallowed you whole. The assistant helping us was just plucking up the courage to ask why she recognised me when Pepper swept back into the room. Riding the high of finding her dress and feeling the baby's first movements.

"You know, Natalie-"

"I haven't been her for years."

"When you came into the tower and swept Happy off his feet, I didn't think we'd end up here, doing this."

"And then the Snap happened," I said, not because I was aiming for sympathy or because I was feeling sorry for myself. But because that's what I believed. If half the universe hadn't been snapped away I doubted I would have barely scraped an invite to the wedding, let alone be half of the bridal party.

And then Pepper did something she'd only ever done once before. She surprised me.

"No. Then life happened," she fixed me with a look as she took the dress from the assistant and paid, "Snap or no Snap, you'd be here. Don't think I haven't noticed how I conveniently have time for a nap when I need it, or the things crossing themselves off my to do list."

"That's Rhodey as much as me."

"Sure," she looped her arm through mine and we walked out onto the street together. "He's coming over for dinner in a couple of days, after the boys have got their suits sorted. Please say you'll be there."

"You know, it's so much harder to refuse you in person than it is over email."

"Good, that's what I was counting on."

* * *

**21 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

I'm making progress with Wong. It sounds like I'm using him. I don't know, maybe I am.

Sometimes I can't tell anymore.

He's still hesitant to talk and I like that. Means he's a sensible guy. From what I gather sorcerer numbers are desperately low post-Snap and the loss of Doctor Strange was a particular blow to them. He has to protect what's left.

Speaking to a former Russian spy, infamous for spilling the highly sensitive secrets of Shield onto the internet, probably doesn't scream 'good idea'.

Even so, I'm getting a better understanding of what he does, what Strange did. Sort of like an old computer loading up an image pixel by pixel The majority of it is blurry, but some small parts are clear.

He's going to be at the wedding reception. I've asked him if he's willing to talk in person then.

Nebula hologrammed in for a quick chat. She's uncovered a lead on her father's research. The reliability of the source is questionable but she thinks it's safe enough to follow up on. Other than that, life has been pretty much the same for her and Rocket. Find a planet, land, put an ear to the ground, come up almost empty, head back into space.

She said she'll let me know as soon as she knows more.

I'm still hopeful we can find something. A way to counteract the stones. To erase what was done.

Or am I just being naive?

Sometimes I can't tell anymore.

* * *

**23 August 2018**

Hi Tom,

If there's one thing I've learned about the team in the aftermath of Thanos, it's that we all have different ways of grieving. And yet, all those ways have one purpose in mind.

To forget.

Forget the pain. Forget the guilt. Forget the failure.

Forget it all because the past is set in stone. As much as we wanted to erase it, what happened had happened. History was written.

And it said we lost.

Whatever is said about the fight against Thanos in years to come, no one will ever truly understand the emotions that riddled the surviving fighters. I can't speak for the others but I know since surviving I've felt toxic and tainted, a pervasive guilt has wormed its way through my body, sending all other things to wither in the harsh light of reality. Even as I write this I know the words aren't good enough. It's so much more complex than just guilt.

There was a bitterness gilding the edges of it. A human urge to blame others for all of it and a yawning pit of horror knowing where the blame belongs. There is no relief at being the one to survive because it crushes you. Every breath tastes like betrayal because there was no grand plan. It was random.

I'm alive while the others aren't. I've killed so many people but I'm still here. Sure, we all know life isn't fair, but I thought death might have been. It's a daily battle to swallow these feelings down.

But the call from Okoye today has me teetering on the edge of losing to this poisonous feeling, which I can't afford. God Tom, it's a struggle.

The thing with Okoye is, she prefers not to email. As technologically advanced as Wakanda is, the communities within the country are also tight-knit. Why send an email when you can see them in person? Her figure was most often the one lit up in the haze of hologram blue. And, honestly, it was nice to speak to someone rather than read their words.

"Perhaps Captain Rogers should be here too?"

The sun was setting outside, Steve wouldn't be back until long after it slipped beneath the horizon without a sound. Friday would soon turn the lights on in the occupied rooms. Until then, Okoye illuminated the space around me.

"He's in the city at the moment. I'll let him know when he's back."

"Very well," she shifted on her feet and cocked her head slightly, someone was speaking to her. She replied quickly and returned her attention to me with an apology on her lips.

"No need," I said, waving her words away before she could utter them, "you're a busy woman, I understand."

"As are you."

"Hmmm, true, but there's only one of us here running a country."

She paused for a second, shifting her feet again. It didn't make her look uncertain, she was blessed with confidence. Tempered by her training and the many victories won throughout her career. No, it was more to do with the need to do something. Like mine, her role had gone from something mostly active to something mostly administrative and she was chafing at the shackles that came with it. She bore it well though. She knows her duty is to serve her country in whatever capacity she can. Since she was such a trusted friend of T'challa, general to both him and his father and loyal to the throne always, the country trusted her to look after them in the interim. Shackled she might be, but serve she still shall.

Even so, when she looked at me her expression said she'd rather not say what she was about to.

"Governing bodies across the world have been in touch with us. They wish to mark the first anniversary of the decimation with a televised event in Wakanda."

"Fuck," I said, breathing the word out before clenching my teeth. The burning plains flashed before my eyes.

"My thought exactly," she said with a smirk. Through all our correspondence I had yet to hear her swear. "You will hear about it soon enough, I'm sure. It won't be an event worth holding if they can't parade the surviving Avengers. I thought you would appreciate the heads up."

"I do, thanks."

Neither of us spoke for a few seconds, the same thing stopping both of us. Even though the anniversary was several months away, it was hard to believe that enough time had passed for us to even be talking about it. It just didn't compute that time still moved without all the missing people to witness it.

"They would like to start planning now," she said in the end, "it is the biggest event in human history."

"In the universe's history."

"Yes. But you know better than anyone how short-sighted these people are. Wakanda will be heavily involved in the plans, after years of secrecy we're not about to let a bunch of strangers come onto our land and take control of things."

She said this last bit in such a way that suggested she'd spent the day making this exact point a dozen times over in a dozen different ways.

"On that note," she continued, "I wanted to invite you to join. It does not seem right if the Avengers do not get their say."

"You're an Avenger."

"I must speak for my country, I cannot speak for both. The invitation is there, Nat."

"I'll discuss it with the others," I said, "thank you, Okoye."

She signed off and I was thrown into semi-darkness. All the feelings I mentioned above came swirling back to me in a hurricane of unworthiness and loathing. When it came to marking a year since the Snap would we still be mourning everyone, or would we be celebrating a great evil undone. I know which I preferred. It was the one I dedicated almost every second to.

I could guarantee that not a single one of the Avengers was looking for a way to mark the event. Not since each of us was doing what we could to forget. And none of us would think we belonged there, leading the commiserations, when we were the reason people weren't there.

"Your leaders want to televise the mourning of its people?" Valkyrie had crept in. The casual clothes she wore were stolen from what Carol had left behind. She's not always around, she spent most of her time helping the Asgardians to settle. Now that was pretty much taken care of, she returned to watch over Thor. The Valkyries were meant to serve the Asgardian royal family. It seems she meant to take that responsibility seriously.

"That's what we do, see human suffering and stick it on TV," the thought of going back to Wakanda filled me with dread and nausea, "it's all about being seen to do something and never about what the people actually want."

She didn't say anything and I wondered if I let my cynicism go too far. Maybe people did want it, maybe they'd be glad to grieve as a whole rather than in private.

"Who was that?" she asked and I was glad of the change of subject.

"General Okoye, interim leader of Wakanda and full-time leader of the Dora Milaje. They're all women soldiers," I added at her look of polite confusion, "sort of like the Valkyries, except they use spears and don't have flying horses."

"Unlucky them. When you're flying on the back of one of those things you feel indestructible. Learned the hard way that was bullshit, though."

We hung out in an easy silence. Every now and then we shared a word or two. Neither of us much liked small talk. She disappeared when Friday announced Steve was back. He wasn't happy with the idea, for the first time in weeks I saw the man who wanted to sink to his knees and give into the tears of his grief.

But he agreed, knowing it would go ahead with or without us. We all did what we could to delete the past from our minds. In the end we always remembered, even though there's plenty we'd like to forget, there is one thing we just can't.

We can, and must, never forget what we lost.

* * *

**9 September 2018**

Hey Tom,

Long silence, huh?

I guess it's been busy. All the days are merging into one. Steve's telling me I need to get some sleep. I continue to give him my fuck-off-you-hypocrite stare.

No one's asked us to get involved in the anniversary planning yet. That's good. None of us have been able to face bringing it up in much detail. I did speak to Rhodey and Tony. I saved it for after dinner, the day after the call. There was an excitement weaving itself around the table, the bride and groom having their outfits sorted for the big day was a milestone that made the whole thing seem more real.

Rhodey already knew about the plans. He'd heard rumblings of it in the Washington based corridors. He expected his superior officer to march up to him at any moment and remind him his new duties included attending such events.

Tony didn't know, no doubt choosing not to, but it wasn't unexpected.

Just like Steve, they weren't happy. And, just like Steve, they agreed to it anyway.

I'm going to ask Rocket, Nebula and Carol to attend. Avengers old and new, standing side by side.

Speaking of Rocket, he emails me almost non-stop. Either there's nothing to do, Nebula isn't understanding his jokes, or he's managed to swindle some unsuspecting person from something they value very much.

I shoot him a reply as soon as I've read what he has to say. He replies just as quick.

* * *

**13 September 2018**

Hi Tom,

Thor is becoming a more common sight around the compound. He doesn't do much. Kind of just sits and stares into the distance. The frown on his face, once so infrequent, was a permanent fixture.

At least he's doing nothing in the company of people. I wonder if it's to do with Valkyrie and the constant reminder of his people being so close.

On a couple of occasions Steve's coaxed him into the gym. Violence against inanimate objects helped the both of us get through what felt like impassable walls of grief - except for when it didn't and then both sought the refreshing change of kicking the shit out of human traffickers. Call me old fashioned, but I don't think Thor needed to hear that bit of our self-prescribed therapy just yet. Not that we needed to worry, he never even got as far as the punching bag. He just sat and watched Steve, the frown still fixed firm.

Sometimes he can be found surrounded by the warren of paperwork and heavy duty scientific journals and text books of what I've come to refer to as Bannerland. He lets the frenzied scientist get on with his work, but Bruce never leaves him alone for long. The first time I saw Thor and the Hulk fighting, I never would have guessed at the bromance that's blossomed between them.

At the start of all this, I might've said Thor would spend most of his time with the scientist, if anyone had asked. I'm glad they didn't, it's another thing I would have got wrong. That honour belongs to Valkyrie and myself.

Shocker, right?

With her, he hears stories of his people. She tells him how they're settling into New Asgard, little bits of what happened after he ordered the evacuation of the ship before Thanos boarded. She even treats him to a few lectures of why he needed to get his arse into gear.

I think some of the words sink in. At least, he replies sometimes.

Valkyrie makes sure she's always moving if he's acting as her shadow. Through trial and error she discovered that if she ran or jogged he didn't even try to keep up with her. If she walked, however, he kept pace. They often walk around the grounds or throughout the compound. When they walk up the main corridor I like to think their footsteps are a gentler replacement of the hammering and clamouring of Rocket and Nebula.

And when he was with me, we sat together while I worked. I forsook my desk to sit with him on the sofa. Almost silence stretched between us, punctured by the muted tapping of my fingers against the tablet until there was a call and even the slightest hint of quiet was banished. He listened in.

In the end I read what was going on to him, so used to reading those books with him. Together we got through reports from our space-bound friends, proposals for operational procedures within WOOPS and a few of the wedding oriented emails from Pepper. Once he was even there for the monthly check in, a silent observer.

Every now and then, though not often, he would offer his thoughts. They were given with such sorrow and regret that I couldn't help but give them thorough consideration for hours at a time.

Though he spends the time sorting through his emotions, I haven't been idle in his company. With the help of Pepper's emails, and the occasional one from Tony, I've planted the idea of attending the wedding in his head. I think part of him misses Tony, they haven't spoken much since after The Garden.

The invitation is also extended to Valkyrie, she'll think about it. She plans to return to New Asgard for good on that day.

If I thought Thor was difficult to convince, Steve was almost impossible. Pepper emailed me a while back stating in no uncertain terms that my fellow former fugitive was to be at her wedding. It's not that he doesn't want to celebrate Tony's happiness, he just feels like Tony would be happier if he wasn't there.

"I don't have an invite," was his go-to excuse.

"Pepper's invited you."

"Nat," he said with a sigh, "I just don't-"

"Or you can be my plus one. Invite says I get one."

"Won't that make Tony mad with you?"

"Please, like I haven't pissed him off before. I can handle Tony."

It was a conversation we'd had a million times over and every time both of us walked away no closer to winning. But, you know, if super powers was a prerequisite for being on the Avengers, mine were strategy and manipulation. I waited until I'd worn him down with the constant asking and pulled out my trump card.

"Do you really think Pepper wouldn't have talked this over with Tony? That she would have asked me if he wasn't okay with it?"

Steve Rogers, the most stubborn fucker you will ever meet. Even a pile of ice couldn't break him. The only thing that could was Steve himself. Give him enough time to think and he'll come round.

* * *

**21 September 2018**

Hi Tom,

Get everything ready for the wedding tomorrow. Done!

Listen to a life-altering announcement at dinner. Also done!

First thing's first, the wedding. The big day is looming and nothing is outstanding. Though I hope I haven't just cursed it.

The excitement radiating from Pepper and Tony is thick and palpable and infectious. Impossible not to feel when you're in the same room as them. All day the air was suffused with the joy of what tomorrow brings. The happy couple were walking on air.

Rhodey and I, however, were flitting around like blue-arsed flies, doing our best not to get entangled in their web of contentment because there was still plenty to prepare.

We turned up a couple of days ago to help chip away at the unending list of tasks. We juggled wedding prep and work. Tried to keep them separate but Tony had a way of making it about the wedding even if it was about people literal light years away. I had to ask Pepper to ban him from being in the same room as Rhodey or I if we were talking shop after he hijacked my call with Nebula to insist she find a way of teleporting back to Earth so she could attend.

As we worked, we kept our fingers crossed that any bad guys making evil plans had the decency to keep them under wraps for a couple more days.

It was a relief when Bruce turned up today to help where he could. More hands to juggle with.

Completion of the list meant we found Chinese food spread out across the dining table, the wafting scent of temptation summoned us. Pepper's treat.

For the first time in a long time, I couldn't wait to eat.

With no distractions it was easy to tell Bruce wasn't quite himself. Or should I say, he was the most himself I'd ever seen. Sure, there were moments when he looked a little on edge, and he fidgeted as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself. But it was by no means the usual nervous energy he exuded.

I thought back to the maths he flung on the boards, the journals he read. I tossed around reasons in my head for why he would throw himself into such a scientific frenzy after Thanos was killed. And I knew my suspicion was no longer just that.

"What's up Bruce?" Tony asked through mouthfuls of noodles, his keen eyes also picking up on the change, "you're not pacing a hole into my carpet."

Bruce laughed.

"No, no pacing. But, I, uh. I think I found something," he spoke into his carton of food, studied his chopsticks and let them rest against the side, "wasn't gonna say anything though. Don't want to encroach on your big day."

"Oh, that's tomorrow, Bruce," Pepper said, waving a hand to dismiss his words, "if you don't say it the rest of us will have to put up with a speculating Tony Stark, and that's not something any of us want to deal with right now."

Rhodey and I murmured in agreement while Tony pretended to be offended.

"Is it something to do with the stones?" Rhodey asked, watching the scientist with wary eyes.

"Uh, no, it's not." Bruce's eyes found mine, looking for something I didn't know to give. Or maybe he sensed that I'd figured it out and he wanted to admit it to someone who wasn't second-guessing his words. Either way, I offered him a small smile and an even smaller nod. As the nerves washed away from him, his expression softened and we all glimpsed the man he must have been before the lab accident. "It's something closer to home, actually. I think I've found a way to merge with the other guy."

There was a beat of silence in which Tony dropped the food he was holding back into the container, Rhodey inched forward in his chair, and Pepper grabbed Tony's hand. No one knew what to say. No one knew if he was done talking. Bruce gauged our reaction and saw nothing he didn't like so added: "One person. My brain, his brawn. If I've worked it out right."

"That's amazing news, Bruce," I said. Though it got a little lost under the whooping from Tony and the sincere congratulations from both Pepper and Rhodey.

We spoke about the work a bit more, he did his best to speak in terms we non-science people would understand. In the end he asked Friday to show everyone the formula he'd created.

It almost went over my head, but when one of your marks was a scientist you kind of had to get into his mind, and that meant learning some of what he studied. I knew enough to know what we were looking at was an elegant solution to an inelegant situation. It was also enough knowledge to realise there was something else he hadn't told us.

"Everything has to be perfectly balanced," Bruce explained, "otherwise it could be more him than me or more me than him. It needs to be equal parts us."

"Sounds about right," Tony said. His eyes hadn't left the formula in front of him. He'd spotted the omission too.

"It's a one way thing, right?" I said, "you don't have to transform anymore."

"Yeah. Once it's done it's done. I can't risk someone else undoing it," he spoke to his food, losing his nerve now we'd arrived at the downside. "I lost to him twice, Nat. As the Hulk and as me. I can't help but think that if both parts had worked together, then maybe we could have stopped him."

"It wasn't your fault, Bruce."

"Wasn't yours either, but I know that's not going to stop you from finding a way to blame yourself."

He had me there.

After we finished eating and talking about the prospect of a permanent big friendly giant, he headed back to the compound. He was in charge of making sure Steve and Thor turned up. Our support and goodbyes followed him down the road.

It was bittersweet, the news. We were happy he found a way to be at peace with himself. Happy he finally realised the Hulk was not a part of him to reject, but to accept. But bitter to know that in the aftermath of the Snap, yet another change was happening. Bitter to know that Bruce was driven to this salvation not through an epiphany of self worth, but rather one that fell very close to self loathing.

He would feel better though, two personalities becoming one. He would feel whole. It was the right thing for him. We all knew it.


	19. Chapter 19

**22 September 2018**

Believe it or not, I'm not much of a wedding person.

It's hard to be when you grow up seeing the worst of the world and the people that live within it. _Being_ the worst of them. Always, no matter what, men and women proved they were happy to go back on their vows if the price was right. They turned on each other, betrayed the people they claimed to love without hesitation. It sort of makes the whole act of getting married seem like a mockery. In the face of seduction, blackmail or guns, the shared love their wedding day was all about never lasted.

Because it didn't exist.

Or maybe that's what I chose to think. What I had to think. I believed the world a loveless place because if it wasn't the Red Room, and what it did, became unbearable.

But today, the midday sun varnished everything from the water to the leaves. The lake glistened beneath its touch and the trees filtered the light so it landed dappled on the ground below.

The world sparkled as it hadn't for years.

The arch, situated in front of the lake, was adorned with flowers. They weaved themselves around the structure as if the whole thing was a minor miracle of nature. The only evidence they weren't was the prickling of rose thorn war wounds scratched across the pads of my fingers. A breeze came to play with people's hair, diffusing the arch's floral aroma over the gathering as it did so.

Not once did I see Pepper falter in her desire to meet Tony at the end of that aisle. She would look at the clock and wish the time was going faster. And when the time did finally arrive the smile on her face grew with every step closer. I stood behind her throughout the ceremony and Tony's smile matched hers.

Everything was gentle.

The minister's voice as it rolled out over all who attended.

The words that made up the vows.

Their recitation.

The tears in Tony's eyes.

The catch in Pepper's breath as the ring was placed on her finger.

The kiss.

Everything.

And all of it washed away what was left of the tainted beliefs of my past. Years of witnessing the marriage between Laura and Clint had deconstructed the rest. I thought they might be a one off. But watching Tony and Pepper over the years and today, I felt another strand of my past snap away.

Everyone clapped and someone yelled from the second row; "It's about damn time."

The newlyweds whipped their heads around, recognising the voice and practically leapt across the space when they saw Happy. No one else saw him for long before he was engulfed in a massive hug.

He was one of the surviving victims of the Snap. At the exact moment Thor shared a few words with the Titan in Wakanda, Happy was being driven, at speed through New York. He was on his way to Pepper, having flown in from Miami after the news of Tony's disappearance hit the airwaves.

When Thanos did his thing, Happy didn't disappear. But his driver did.

He woke up in hospital a couple of weeks later with a load more injuries to add to his impressive list from over the years, including a leg with completely shattered bones. Most of us thought he'd disappeared along with half the universe until Pepper suggested bringing him in on our help the orphans project. He can't travel much, still working his way through physiotherapy, but that doesn't stop him from bothering the hell out of every logistical person at every logistical stage and, to be honest, making sure the job gets done the best it can.

"You're here," Tony said to his long-time friend.

"Course I am, didn't think I was really going to miss this miracle did you?"

"It's so good to see you, Happy," Pepper said.

"Yeah, just if you think you sense any security threats, please try not to throw yourself on top of me. There's only one person I want to do that tonight and, for an astute businesswoman, she's just signed the worst contract of her life. Stuck with me forever, now."

Pepper swatted his arm and Tony only grinned. Behind them, Rhodey rolled his eyes at me while waving at Happy. Trust Stark to find a way to embarrass his wife seconds after they were married.

"Sorry to interrupt the reunion," I said, "but wedding photos."

"Looks like you've got someone else to schedule your day," Happy laughed as we made our way toward the house.

By the time the photographer had tested our last nerve with demands for posing; the chairs were rearranged and given the company of tables, catering staff had set up one of the most extravagant buffets I'd ever seen, music was playing over the outside speakers (courtesy of DJ Friday. Think I'm kidding? Some of Tony's essential wedding prep was to re-programme the AI to keep the music flowing, announcements spontaneous and to pretty much host the evening), ready for the first dance.

Rhodey and I managed to get away from the photographer sooner, once we were out of sight we high fived. He looked relieved. He'd stood by Tony's side for so long, seeing him through a lot of lows. Now he was at his side for one of the few highs and nothing had crept out of the woodwork to ruin it.

"To a job well done," he said, "making sure those two got hitched."

"Don't know about you, but it was easy my side. Nothing was going to come between them today."

The reception was a lot busier than the ceremony. The intimate atmosphere had transformed to something more general and the mood was already swinging towards party time.

Steve, Thor and Bruce had sat together at the ceremony. According to Rhodey, some of the other guests were shooting them looks before it started, no doubt hoping for some Avenger theatrics. All three of them wilted underneath the attention, easy to imagine when it came to Steve and Bruce. But Thor thrived when he was centre of attention, a result of growing up in the spotlight.

I watched him from a distance. He'd claimed a table with Steve. Bruce was off with the intention of getting food, but was held up in conversation with several people he came to know through Tony. Thor skewered the buffet with hungry eyes, but he refrained from getting anything. Instead, he let Steve speak at him, not taking in any of his words.

I dodged my way through the people until I reached their table. "Tony and Pepper will be out in a second," I said, he looked up, confused, "at which point they'll be press-ganged into their first dance, most people will watch and you can get your food in peace."

He had an appetite for chicken wings but he didn't have one for chatting.

"Oh. Right. Thank you, Natasha."

He had only just finished speaking when my prediction came true and he took the opportunity to sneak across to claim sustenance.

"Hey soldier," I said as I took Thor's vacated seat. In front of Steve lay the remnants of his own buffet plate, once piled high, now covered with the crumbs and leftovers.

"Hey Nat." He noticed what I was looking at. "I offered to get him a plate but he said something like 'although you have a hearty appetite for a Midgardian, your tiny mountain of food will not be enough to fuel an Asgardian'."

"And who are you to argue with that," I said, my gaze caught between watching Tony and Pepper enjoy their first dance together (part of me was surprised Tony hadn't organised something horrendous and cheesy to impress her with), and Thor curate not just a mountain of food, but a whole damn mountain range.

"Exactly."

"Thanks for turning up," I moved in my chair, arm rested across the back, chin propped atop that, and faced Steve. He twisted a paper napkin in his hands.

"As if I could turn down the bride when she used the scariest person I know as her messenger."

"She's a smart one, that Pepper."

He looked past me and watched all the people dance. A wistful shadow made its way across his face. The twisted napkin turned into a torn one. Shredded pieces stuck to his thumb and fluttered into his lap. I stood from my seat and opted for the one the other side of him.

His eyes followed without his realising and he shifted to look at me so we could continue talking. The dancers now behind him.

"How're you doing?" He asked once we were both settled in our new positions. "I feel like I've hardly seen you the past couple of weeks."

"Exhausted. Might even get some nightmareless sleep tonight."

"They're worse than when we were on the run."

The nightmares were something we came to know about each other when we partnered up at Shield, thanks to long missions and a budget that often only stretched to a single room between us. As we got used to each other we learned how to talk each other down from the horrors behind closed eyes. It was a skill that came in useful during our tenure as the world's most wanted. Even though he'd lost Peggy and had to leave Bucky in Wakanda, my nightmares were the ones that made the most frequent appearances. Spurred on by a reunion I'd never thought I have with those I left behind when I defected.

"One could argue the situation is worse now than it was then." I swallowed the memories and scanned the buffet table, wondering where Thor had got to. Someone had caught up to him, he balanced his plates as he was forced to listen to them. I was about to go and rescue him when I realised it was Valkyrie.

It looked like their words were heated, pointed, and designed to hurt. They only stopped when the happy couple made their way over. They greeted Thor and tried to give him a hug without knocking food everywhere and then introduced themselves the other woman.

"Congratulations," Valkyrie's voice made its way over to us as she was caught up in conversation with them. Though, it wasn't long before the couple moved and the angry Asgardian dragged the hungry one elsewhere to continue their chat uninterrupted.

"You're staying the night, by the way. Pepper's made a room up for you."

"She didn't need to do that."

"No, she didn't," I sighed and kicked my shoes off and rested my feet on Steve's knee. They didn't realise how much pain they were in until I freed them, "so you're gonna thank her by staying."

"I can't."

"You can, and you will," I said while he gulped down his drink, "I know what you're going to say, Steve. That you don't belong here. But that's utter crap. Right now, there's nowhere else you belong more." He went to interrupt me but I held up my hand. "Trust me, one day you guys are gonna bury the hatchet. Everyone knows it except for the two of you. So, why drag it out and waste our time?"

"It's kinda made a lot more complicated by my best friend killing his parents."

"I did no such thing."

He laughed so loud he surprised himself. Me too, to be honest, I didn't think it was that funny. A couple of people looked over at the abruptness of it and carried on looking once they realised it was Captain America.

"There," I leaned forward and gave him a light punch on the shoulder, "wasn't so hard, was it. You should laugh more often, soldier. It suits you better than this whole sombre air you have going on."

"How do you do it, Nat?" I quirked an eyebrow Steve's way, not sure what he was asking. Though, to be fair, my attention was a little divided by a new arrival who looked like he wasn't entirely sure what formal attire was, used to spending his time in more modest clothing and surroundings. The mysterious sorcerer, perhaps? "How do you stop the weight of everything from crushing you?"

I wanted to say it was easy. That I pretended, because my whole life was about pretending.

But Steve didn't need the truth right then.

"Ask others to help you prop it up." I returned my attention to him and he gave me this piercing look, like the one he carried around with him while Nick was pretending to be dead and Hydra was on our tail. "People do good things when they're together. They change the world. Focus on those good things and maybe, one day, it'll get easier to exist. Maybe our spectres will stop haunting our dreams. And, maybe, we'll find we've left the guilt behind. Of course, it also helps we're out their scouring the universe for a way to undo it."

"Do you really believe that?" He said, tone soothing.

"That we'll undo it? With all my soul."

It was a deflection and I'm pretty certain we both knew it. The other stuff, did I believe in that?

I don't know.

He sat back in his chair and thought for a moment, eyes going to a faraway place. What remained of the napkin was discarded on the table, arms folded against his chest.

"Not everyone has friends they can ask," he said more to himself than me.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, just something to think about."

"Well, while you're thinking, I'll take my leave." I let my feet slide off his lap and they groaned at the contact with the ground, which was a hell of a lot less soft than the air. "Sorry, work thing."

"Isn't it always."

I collected my shoes, messed up Steve's hair for his sheer cheek, and padded my way over to the man I presumed to be Wong. He was sat at a table that had a prime spot in the whole arrangement, but he was alone. His back was to me and the poor man had no idea I was coming for him.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you have yet to hit the dance floor," Pepper said, swooping out of nowhere and trying to drag me into the crowd of swirling and writhing people. I wormed my way out of her grip with promises of later, and finished my advance on the unsuspecting sorcerer. I couldn't quite hide the smile when he jumped as I slipped into the chair beside him.

"Mister Wong, I presume." I handed him his plastic cup of water as he choked on whatever he was eating. "You never replied to my email, wasn't sure if you wanted to talk or not." While he gulped down more water, just to make sure nothing else was caught in his throat, I chucked my shoes on the chair beside me.

"And you thought that was a good enough reason to choke a man to death? You really do live up to your reputation, Ms Romanoff."

"Do I," I said and flashed him one of those smirks I'm so fond of, "I'm not really sure what that is, anymore."

"So scary Ben & Jerry's would only give you a limited edition Halloween ice cream," he said as he tucked into his plate of assorted foodstuffs, apparently without any qualms about choking again. I could smell the grease.

"Is that so? Shouldn't it be out again now, what was it called?"

"Black 'as night' Cherry Widow."

"Not the most original." I inspected my nails and let the silence do the work. He knew why I was there and I was happy to go at his pace. Music washed over everything and people laughed. Tony and Pepper right in the middle of the joy that emanated from their gathered guests. Steve, the napkin back in his hand, was joined at his table with Rhodey, who was knocking back a beer. Bruce hovered his way over to them, scanning the crowds as he went. Ever vigilant, even during this calm phase. Thor was still nowhere to be seen.

"Why are you so interested in the wielders of the mystic arts?" Wong asked.

And up went my eyebrow.

"What's wrong with the word sorcerer?"

"People say it's ridiculous."

"Hate to break it to you but 'wielders of the mystic arts' isn't going to fare much better."

"I think I prefer you over email," he said and even looked at me long enough to send a scowl my way. "Why are you so interested in us?"

"I like to learn new things."

"In case it wasn't clear, we know about you," he said as he wiped his chin clear of the sauce that did its best to cling on, "about the things you've done. I'm not sure you'd be accepted at Kamar-Taj. Granting you more power seems ill-advised."

"Can't say I blame you," I said and forced my eyes to smile, "but I'm after a different knowledge. I want to know about the stones."

He chewed for a few seconds, watching everyone else go about the sort of wedding revelry you'd expect. His movements were deliberate, as were the mouthfuls of food he insisted on taking. A man putting on a face he wasn't used to wearing, one he put on to fulfil the role he found himself thrust into. Sure, the airs and graces were annoying, they always were no matter who put them on, but far be it for me to challenge a guy still getting used to his new position in life without the people once there to support him.

"I'm not sure I can help. We knew nothing of the Infinity Stones before Doctor Banner crashed through our roof."

"Not all of them, no. But your order spent aeons protecting one of them."

"Yes, Agamotto knew the stone for what it was. Crafting the Eye allowed us to harness its power and to protect it from forces that would abuse that power."

"If you guys knew how to use it, how come you never did? All these things have happened in the world and you had the power to turn back time."

He pushed his plate away and prepared himself for words I'm sure he'd spouted a thousand times before.

"We call people who use the weapons at their disposal powerful. But the people with those same weapons who choose not to use them, we say they're wise. The Ancient One was wise."

"Meaning?"

"She understood the natural order of things. The purpose of the Eye was to be used sparingly. Any slip and the fabric of time is torn apart. Forming new paths and new realities. Causing more chaos, the natural enemy of order. To turn back time to save those in the past could endanger the lives of those in the future. It would take something catastrophic to make the use of the Time Stone worthwhile."

"Like the death of half the universe," I said.

Wong nodded and blinked slowly. I wondered if he witnessed anyone disappear. Wondered if he'd felt the moment we lost in the ebb and flow of his mystic arts.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"We can never know for sure if something is worthwhile, Ms Romanoff. The most important thing is to always make sure no alternate realities appear because of our actions. We must make sure that our the strength of our walls don't weaken to let chaos leak through. That is why the Sorcerer Supreme is tasked with guarding the Eye. They must protect it from all those would use it with ill intent."

"So why give it to Thanos? Pretty sure his intent counted as the illest ever."

Wong shrugged and scratched his hand. With a small sense of satisfaction I realised his movements were no longer so deliberate. I'd convinced him to let down his guard. It was a good thing the deadly version of the Black Widow wasn't sat in front of him.

"Doctor Strange was a difficult man to predict."

"Would you be happy to send me copies of any texts about the Time Stone? And anything you think might reference other stones?"

"If you do not wish to master the mystic arts, why do you want to know?"

"You were a librarian, right? Then you should know better than anyone that knowledge is power. I want to use this power to find a way to undo what was done."

"Very well."

"Very well?"

"I'm satisfied. I'll share what I can. Bear in mind that these secrets were meant to stay within our order. By sharing, I may very well be betraying that which I swore an oath to protect. If I ever need anything from the Avengers, I expect your help."

"Of course," I said.

"You're not given nearly enough credit, Ms Romanoff. Perhaps you deserve a different reputation."

"Credit for what, talking? No, most people think I'm taciturn and unsociable. Though, you keep your mouth shut, you hear. I don't want to dissuade anyone of that notion."

Wong smiled and wiped his hand on his trousers, the napkin he acquired with his plate covered in the sauce he'd dabbed from his chin. We sat in silence for a few moments before movement caught my eye. Bruce had left the guys at the table and made his way over to ours. The sorcerer leaned forward to whisper.

"I don't think _everyone_ considers you as such."

We both tracked Bruce's movements and he ducked his head under the joint weight of our stares. His hands were crammed into both his pockets until he removed one to give us an awkward half-wave.

"Hi there," he said and I couldn't help but notice that his shirt was rumpled from the day and his hair was ruffled by the ever playful breeze. "Good to see you again, Wong. Hope you got the roof sorted."

"We managed to patch it up, doctor."

An awkward moment stretched between the three of us and while Bruce fished for something to say I saw a smirk try and creep its way onto Wong's mouth.

"He saved my life," the scientist finally settled on and nodded to the sorcerer, "when the aliens attacked and the Other Guy decided he didn't want to come out."

"Well then, Wong," I said and leaned into the back of my chair, my arms clicked as I straightened, "I owe you twice over, for keeping my friend safe."

"Once is just fine, Ms Romanoff," he smiled again and made no effort to move, "enjoy the rest of your evening."

In an uncharacteristic move of boldness, Bruce held a hand out to me.

"I heard you promise Pepper you'd make an appearance on the dance floor. Don't want you to break your word."

With an exaggerated sigh I grabbed the painful shoes and winced them on then bypassed his hand and looped my arm through his.

"Lead the way, doc. Thanks again, Wong. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

As we walked away I felt the confidence seep out of Bruce at the sight of others dancing. They were people who enjoyed a party and he was a man who much preferred his own company in a lab. The furrow of his eyebrows armed him with a baffled look, as if he not once expected me to accept and he wasn't quite sure what to do next.

Bodies bumped against us as we joined them in the sway of the melody. It took a while for him to get used to it but in the end I was surprised. He was nowhere near as horrendous as I feared.

For the most part we stayed silent, and a sense of the gentleness from the ceremony settled over us as he found his feet. We enjoyed each other's company and let the conversations all around wash over us. And it struck me that there were very few of these moments left. Soon he would he would undergo a permanent transition and everything would be different.

We spoke about nothing in particular. Glad to have this time to relax. Even with his time away and the events that happened between Ultron and Thanos, it was still easy to talk to him. Though possibilities for something more plummeted to zero when I pushed him into the gaping hole where Sokovia used to be, we would always have our friendship.

"How did you know?" He asked out of the blue as we avoided a pair who danced with no consideration for all those around them, "about my breakthrough. I looked at you yesterday and you just knew. You always just know."

"I'm that good at my job," I smirked and he laughed.

"Seriously, Nat."

"I had my suspicions," I said and he winced as someone yelled loudly behind us, possessed by party fever, "I only put it all together a couple of seconds before you looked my way, though."

"I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to be sure it worked. Plus, it would have made it more real."

The song ended and another one started. We stayed and continued what we were doing. Tony and Pepper breezed past us.

"Hey, Bruce buddy," Tony said, raised a hand in demand of a high five, "didn't expect to see you up here."

Their hands connected and the newlyweds whisked themselves away in whirls and swirls of laughter and smiles.

"It's good to see him happy," Bruce said. I couldn't help but agree.

"So, what are your plans for when you're big and green and can no longer fit in a car?" I asked. His own smile pulled at his lips before he adopted a thoughtful gaze, similar to the one Steve had earlier.

"You know, I haven't really thought about it. I uh, I guess I'll need to see what my limits are, oh," he tripped over his own feet and we almost stumbled into people, "hopefully the Other Guy has better coordination than me."

I laughed.

"I doubt I'll be as strong as the Other Guy, the geeky part kind of dilutes that."

"Uh," I prodded him in the shoulder, "without the geeky part there would be no Other Guy."

He ducked his head, not so much dismissing the comment as letting it bypass him completely. "I was sort of hoping, if all goes well, I could join your little club."

"You mean my super awesome, super effective, domestic and intergalactic Avengers club?"

"Name's a little different from what I remember," he said with mischief in his eyes, "but yeah, that's the one."

"I mean, I _guess_ you meet the criteria."

"There's criteria now?"

"Yeah, you're a little bit weird and a little bit tragic. Welcome."

We laughed our way around the dance floor trading jokes and quips as if no years had passed and we were still living in Avengers Tower in relative peace. And then something slow came on and we decided a hasty exit to the tables was in order.

Before we made it all the way back to the others, he grabbed my arm and brought us to a stop. The look in his eyes was serious and shone all the more for the vulnerability it showed.

"Will you be there when it happens," he said, so low I almost couldn't hear him over the music, "when I transform."

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else," I said, and almost pointed out the others would want to be there too but my phone went off. Bruce went back to sit with Steve and Rhodey, Thor still missing. And I headed around to the front of the house where there was less noise.

The air was cooler and it smelled of nature. Of leaves and grass and mud and everything that was covered up by the fragrances everyone had doused themselves in before coming out. It was addictive and soothing. The call, though important, was boring enough to let my mind wander and question, why, underneath all the naturalness there was the smell of cooked chicken, bread, potato skins and so much more.

I turned to find two abandoned plates sitting on a bench, piled high with enough food to fuel an Asgardian.

* * *

**23 September 2018**

Hi Tom,

No one saw Thor for the rest of the night. The car Steve drove was gone. Vanished as if it was never there. Which meant I had company on the drive back to the compound. Two people asking the same questions running through my head.

My first stop after I pulled up into the garage was Thor's quarters. There were only two things worth noting.

Stormbreaker was missing.

And there was a note on his dining table, just big enough to say he left for New Asgard.

Another one gone.


	20. Chapter 20

Laura took a sip of water. A couple of droplets clung to her lips and she wiped them away. Clint watched as she took in a breath to start reading the next entry when Salt-N-Pepa's _Push It _started to play. His phone vibrated in his pocket, causing everyone to groan, as Laura closed the journal with a sigh.

"Sorry," he said, catching sight of Pepper's name on the call display. Clint eased himself from the sofa and headed onto the porch out front for a little privacy. He and Pepper didn't have much of a relationship. Spending most of his downtime with his family, he didn't hang around at the tower much between missions. When he did it was to catch up on sleep. Both things caused a severe lack of exposure to each other's company. When they did talk at parties or other Avenger and Co gatherings it was because she was in Tony's life and he was in Nat's. Their interest in each other was down to the mutual knowing of someone the other liked. And that was the extent their lives were inclined to let them socialise with each other.

With the two things that had once linked them together gone, Clint had expected to fall from casual acquaintance, to Christmas card list only, to someone who used to know the CEO of one of the most influential companies in the world. But, it seemed, the opposite was happening.

They spoke after the battle, she was still in the suit Tony made for her. Dirt marred parts of it, blood other bits. Her eyes were red and wild and lost. He was chafing at the knowledge his family was back and that he wasn't with them.

"Hey," he said, "I'm sorry about Tony."

It felt inadequate. Sounded it, too. She'd just lost her husband and those five words were all he could muster up. But he was numbed by Natasha. Still in a trance of surrealism. One moment they were making jokes climbing up one side of a mountain, the next she was falling down the other side. One moment he was on the phone to Laura, the next he was fighting for the very universe Nat gave her life for.

And the numbness was how he travelled from each of these moments to the next.

"Yeah, me too," Pepper said.

Clint sat next to her as people yelled in the distance, taking note of the survivors. Some people laughed in relief. Relief of life thrust upon them once again, relief of survival against the odds. Others cried and their tears stood for many things.

"I'm sorry about Nat," she said, shifting her head up but not quite looking at him.

"Yeah, me too," he said.

When they next spoke it was at the funeral. The sun shone the way Nat had described it in her journal. The lake and the lawn; bathed in light.

Almost cleansing, almost healing.

Clint and Wanda stood on the shore of the lake, just beyond the shade of a tree; long since lapsed into silence. He remembered the warmth of the day on his face and the smell of the wildflowers around them. Vision was at the front of her mind while Nat was at the front of his. She'd spent many a sunny day playing with the kids around the farm.

Pepper joined them, with Tony occupying her thoughts. With a start, Wanda offered her a hug and slid away.

"I always knew I'd lose him like this," Pepper said, her words spilled out over the lake, once again not quite looking at him, "that's why I walked away. I just wish I spent that time with him."

When he got home that evening, Clint hugged his children a little tighter and held Laura a little closer.

The wooden porch creaked underfoot, he swiped a thumb across the screen and answered.

"Hey, how's it going?" He said as soon as the call clicked through.

"A day at a time," she said.

"Same here." He wasn't sure what to say, there was no reason he could think of that she would call him. Clint was proud of the fact that he could talk to anyone. Introduce him to an over-worked accountant in New Zealand or a puffed up talentless hack in Wales and he'd work a conversation out of them within minutes. He had the gift of the gab and he knew how to use it.

And that's why standing in silence, watching his daughter chase the infernal cat, and waiting for Pepper to say something felt unnatural to him. Maybe it was because he'd come to appreciate there was a closeness between her and Nat he hadn't seen before, and maybe it was because that opened up the possibility of Nat venting about him to her. Or maybe it was all in his head and the one who felt awkward was the person on the other end of the line.

Either way, he never before understood how much an art form making conversation actually was.

"We found a bunch of Nat's stuff," he said, thinking it was a risky way to get the conversation off the ground but better than standing around and listening to the silence they both insisted on.

"I heard," she said and then realised an explanation was needed, "I went to visit the compound to see how the cleanup was going. The sooner the wreckage is cleared away the sooner we can rebuild."

"Rebuild?"

"Yeah. The Avengers need to live beyond Tony and Nat's memory. Their lives kept this planet safe, now it's time for their legacy to take over. And it's going to need a headquarters."

"Good thinking," Clint said, again finding himself bereft of words. While he was reaching into the past and grasping for any wisps of his friend that he could, Pepper was looking to the future.

"Were her journals there?" Pepper asked.

"Huh?"

"Nat's journals."

"How did you know?"

There was a huff of laughter across the line and Clint realised he sounded jealous. Maybe he was, everyone else seemed to know so much more about his best friend than he did.

"Don't worry, it's not like she told me. I'm more observant than you spies give me credit for. I found her hunched over a book with traces of ink on her hands often enough. Everyone has to have someone to talk to, even those who bottle everything up. You weren't there, it made sense."

The casual reminder of his absence felt like a rusted piece of barbed wire to his heart. He shook it aside.

"Hill and Fury brought it all over, along with a desire to find out everything they have to say." He paused a second as he realised what he'd said. Admitting to riffling through the thoughts of a dead woman sounded so crass, even more so when it was to someone who wasn't there.

"I think she'd be glad to know you're reading them. I don't think she was writing just for herself. The thing with Nat is there were a lot of things she wanted to say, but something kept her from saying them. Maybe this way, she'll get most of it off her chest." There was such certainty in her voice, complete belief that he wasn't doing anything wrong that he found himself flooded with gratitude. Not that his actions were condoned, but that Natasha had someone like this in her corner.

"Actually, we've just finished reading about your wedding. Sounds like it was beautiful."

"One of the most beautiful days of my whole life," she said, breath hitching and Clint cursed himself for mentioning it. A reminder that the one person she chose to spend the rest of her life with had a much shorter lifespan that either had expected. "I keep thinking about that day, you know. About how happy I was, and him. It was the happiest I'd ever seen him. Until a few months later when Morgan was born. I'm surprised she wrote about it."

"You made an impact on her life," he paused again as a thought struck him. "Let me know if you want to read them. She wrote about Tony a lot. And you."

"Thanks, Clint." Her voice was deep as if the ocean of emotion they both hovered over was about to sweep her away. "I'll let you know when I'm ready."

Lila was walking back towards the house, the cat scooped up in her arms. He searched both of them for feathers, knowing mayhem was around the corner if Liho ever managed to get into the chicken coop.

"How's Morgan holding up?"

"She's finding it hard to understand why all these people can come back from the dead but her dad can't. She still expects him to come and tuck her in at night. There's nothing I can say."

Sometimes being a parent was the most difficult thing in the world. And it was made worse by the lessons you couldn't teach your children. The ones only life could give. This was one of those, and Clint had enough common sense to know it wasn't something Pepper wanted to hear. So he let her vent, instead.

"Sometimes I think I get where you were coming from," she said, "a lot of days it feels like Morgan is the only strand of sanity I have left. I can't imagine what it would be like if I lost her as well."

"You should come round, when you feel up to it," Clint said, moved from his silence, keen to stop anyone making the mistakes he had, "the kids would love to get to know Morgan. We're here for you, Pepper. The Barton clan, the rest of the Avengers. We're your family, too. Whether you like it or not."

"I don't know. I don't want to impose." She'd used Clint's flurry of words to compose herself and he knew he was being treated to her CEO mask, the one that doesn't let anything slip through.

"Not imposing if you're invited," Clint sighed, he'd felt words dislodge themselves from the chaotic cloud running through his head and knew they were what he needed to say. "I just want you to know that we're here. And I want to make sure you're listening. I turned my back on the one person I had left and by the time I came round I only had a few days with her before forever took her away. I'll always regret that."

"Because she might still be here if you hadn't?"

"No. She would still have done what she did on that awful planet. But I would have had an extra five years' worth of memories with her. And maybe, just maybe, those would have been enough to make the loss back then, and the loss now, a little less painful."

"I guess she _was_ as unstoppable as Tony."

"Pfft, don't be polite. They were the two most stubborn people I've ever met."

On the other end of the line there was a tentative laugh. One that wasn't sure if it should exist but it made its way into the world anyway. It was with that laugh and a few words of parting that they hung up on each other. He stood still for a few moments more, soaked in the cloudy day and filled his lungs with the fresh air until they ached. He tapped the phone against his hand a couple of times and noted, with a small amount of shock, that at some point over the last few days, all dread and fear of what Natasha's words might bring had seeped away.

He stepped back inside, head a little bit clearer, to find the living room empty of everyone except Laura. It seemed they'd all taken the opportunity to do something else. Laura remained oblivious to his return. She sat on the arm of the sofa and touched her fingers gently to the cover of the journal still in her hands. She swept her hands over the front and back, before caressing the spine and hugging it to her chest. And he knew that she imagined it in Nat's hands, every time she opened it to share her thoughts with the paper beneath her pen, every time she contemplated writing something, the very last time she handled it. By the end of this private, almost ritualistic moment, tears glistened on her cheeks.

"I wish I was hugging her," Laura said, apparently not as oblivious to Clint's presence as he thought.

"I know," he said as he walked up and encircled her in his arms. He pulled her close to his chest as she had with the book. She said something but it was muffled, so he pulled back and looked down at her.

"Things are making more sense, you know. The way she felt when Pepper made her feel her stomach, I could see it in my head, the exact expression on her face. I'd seen it so many times. When I asked her to hold one of the kids, or if she could babysit. When we told her we wanted to name our next child after her. When I made her feel _my_ stomach when I was pregnant. I always wondered what it meant and now I know. She was realising her value," she choked on her words and had to take a moment before she could speak again. "I hate to think how empty the start of her life was if things like that were still a surprise after all the years we'd known each other."

"Sometimes," Clint said, wiping the tears away from Laura's cheeks, "I wonder if I knew her as well as I thought I did."

"I prefer to think of it as we've never known her better."

* * *

**1 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

For someone who didn't say much or share any of what he was feeling, Thor's sudden departure left a gaping hole in the compound. Left behind in his wake was a renewed sense of failure.

Our failure to help him.

I doubt it was his intention to stir up these feelings, and there's a silent agreement between us to never mention it to him; knowing how fragile he was, but no one knew what spurred the move.

Bruce thought it was triggered by the news of his breakthrough. He'd revealed it to Steve and Thor in the car on the way up to the wedding. Either he took inspiration from the way his friend had found a way to move forward, or he was frightened of the idea of being left behind. Steve wasn't sure what to think. He and Thor hadn't exchanged many words, the only strength they lent one another was their company. In hindsight, Steve was scared the lack of talking might have suggested the god wasn't quite welcome.

Neither reason felt like the answer, but what else can we think? As much as we hope it's a good sign, there is an unspoken truth that lingers between us, waiting for the moment one of us will acknowledge it. Thor would not have crept away while we were distracted if the thing that drove him was good.

Only shame would cause such a proud man to sneak away under the cover of night with no one else around.

While Tony and Pepper enjoyed their honeymoon, the three of us tried to get in touch with Thor. Steve and I didn't even make it past Valkyrie. The only reason Bruce did was because he and the warrior had a history. Even if most of it was a blurred and tangled mess in his mind.

Bruce learned three things from the call. Firstly, Thor had a house, it overlooked the sea, which sometimes 'roared like a starved behemoth about to devour mighty battalions of bloodthirsty berserkers'. Secondly, he would 'lead the remaining Asgardians into their new era. They have conquered the sword and the axe and the hammer, now it was time for them to conquer fishing nets and fishing boats and become the mightiest fishermen and women Midgard has had the honour of hosting'. And finally, his 'good friends Korg and Miek were with him. One's made of rock and the other is something...well, it's something. They were good friends. Great friends. The best advisors a king could ask for'.

And with those forced words of reassurance communicated to us via Bruce, we lived as we had before. As if one of us hadn't just moved out and the certainty of another departure didn't loom over our heads.

Whenever the three of us were together the unavoidable fact hung around, as tangible as a fourth person in the compound. It dogged every word and shadowed every casual glance. We avoided the topic at all costs and that was the nourishment it needed to grow bigger and bigger until it felt like it was the only thing left unsaid between us.

Despite the active non-acknowledgement, it was clear staying in the compound post-transformation was a temporary solution for Bruce. He could walk the halls and fit through the doors, the stairs were easy for him to climb and the lift would hold his weight, but no one had thought to equip the compound with heavy duty chairs or beds. Everything was too small for a Hulk of any size to live here on a permanent basis.

He would need a home more suitable to him. Something comfortable to live his day-to-day life in without worry of breaking anything. A place where he could support his new way of life and treat problems that cropped up, should any arise.

Tony's already agreed to help him find and modify a place to his needs. I overheard the call. I'm not sure how Steve knows, but he does. There's something in his eyes that I don't know how to read.

Though, to be honest I haven't tried all that hard to read it. I'm not sure I want to know what it says. There weren't that many people left after the Snap. And now there are fewer still.

It just feels like everyone's disappearing.

* * *

**3 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

Pepper's sent over photos from the wedding, and not just the forced ones the photographer had us pose for. Not that those ones aren't nice, especially when it's just those two together.

Working under the assumption that Steve's presence at the wedding meant things were patched up, the photographer even managed to organise a few shots of the remaining Avengers together. It was a far cry from the first picture taken in New York, surrounded by the very broken looking living area of Stark Tower.

If you looked close enough you could see the strain of the intervening years tugging at Tony's eyes and pulling at Steve's lips. Where once they might have stood side by side, they were as far away from each other as possible. If you knew him, you'd know that the laughter Steve shared at Tony's jokes was cautious. Uncertain if he was allowed.

Then there were the changes not to do with their rocky relationship. Clint was absent from my side, but Rhodey was there. Bruce beamed from ear-to-ear, happy for Tony but also happy he'd found a way forward at long last. Thor stood beside him, hair short, scar running across his face and through his eye. He was the sort to clap his arms around the shoulders of those who stood beside him, but he kept to himself. Touching no one as the camera recorded these mixed moments.

Photos from the reception were more candid. Tony and Pepper during their first dance, Wong at the buffet table, Thor and Valkyrie talking on the front porch, Tony making his speech, Pepper hiding behind her hands, me and Steve laughing, people I didn't know waving at the camera, Happy with the bride and groom either side of him, Rhodey making his speech. Rhodey trying to convince Tony jumping into the lake was a bad idea, me and Bruce dancing, Pepper and I throwing our shoes away into the trees.

Random snapshots that came together to document one of the best twenty-four hour periods any of us had experienced.

* * *

**4 October 2018**

Morning Tom,

Picture this.

It's pitch black outside. Seasonal clouds obscure the night sky. Stars are hidden, the moon tries to shine through the thick cover but only achieve a faint glow; lending an eeriness to the atmosphere.

Humidity is in the air, one that belongs more to August than it does October. It has the double task of inducing drowsiness while also making it impossible to do anything comfortably.

You come out of your little doze, not even aware you'd fallen into one, smelling the dust attracted to the electronics surrounding you. Feeling the hard edges of the keyboard you'd rested your head on, knowing there were little square patches across your cheek where the keys had imprinted themselves.

Hearing the panic stricken calls for help from someone you didn't know knew how to be panicked.

That was how things started a couple of hours ago.

The room was awash in the cool blue light that meant a hologram was present. It was Nebula. Her words took a moment to register, though it felt like minutes.

"Romanoff, are you there? Agent Romanoff. We are being pursued."

"I'm here, Nebula," I said as I jumped up from my chair and came round the front of my desk. "What's the situation?"

I heard Rocket in the background, cursing as he navigated their ship through, what sounded like, a series of small explosions. A few sparks even made their way into the hologram field for effect.

"Rocket and I are in trouble. Remnants of the Black Order have attacked. We are fighting back but they have caused serious damage." There was a bigger explosion, the ship jolted and shook. I heard the metallic shudder as the force of the blast caused holo-Nebula to stumble and grab onto something out of sight to keep her balance, then she yelled over her shoulder. "Keep the ship level, rodent," before turning back to me, "we are outgunned, I'm not sure how long we will last."

"Next time keep it short and just say we're getting our arses handed to us," Rocket yelled from nowhere. "Take that you motherf-"

"Send me your coordinates," I said. There wasn't much I could do but I knew the value of a calm head in the middle of a hurricane. I was already queuing up a call with Carol. "Where's the best place for you guys to land for repairs?"

"Earth, your planet is not the closest but we know it's not hostile."

"Danvers here," Carol said, speaking over the last of Nebula's sentence. She flickered into view and took a moment to take in Nebula's shaking holo-form as the ship was accosted again. "Whoah, what's going on?"

Another huge bang and Nebula disappeared to go and help her shipmate. Blue light, broken words and a constant barrage of noise that didn't sound good anywhere (let alone in the middle of space) told me we were still connected.

"They need your help," I said and tapped my tablet, "I've sent you their coordinates. Are you nearby?"

"Not really but I have friends who can be there in ten. It'll take me a couple of hours to meet up."

"Okay, send your friends. But it's the Black Order. I want you there too. Once the situation is resolved come back to Earth with them. Keep me updated."

"Copy that." She signed off without much further ado and I was left with a hollow blueness and noises that belonged light years away.

"Danvers is on her way. She's sending you reinforcements that are closer to your position." I let the words float through the connection and hoped they found the ears I intended.

"Gotcha," Rocket said. It was hard to tell if he was replying or claiming victory. The two of them spoke in a short hand. Short phrases, incomplete sentences, a team partnership working together at its peak, with some cursing thrown in.

Steve slipped into the room and stood beside me. He stared at the empty air where the sound of battle seeped through.

"They say curiosity killed the Cap, you know," I said.

"Yeah, if curiosity was the name of the sea I crashed into. Even then it did a pretty shoddy job on the killing me part." Something flashed in his eyes and I wanted to ask if this reminded him of his final flight with Red Skull. A sudden shudder of the hologram brought me back to focus.

"Rocket. Nebula. Report."

No one answered for a couple of seconds. They dragged long enough for me to consider the possibility of having lost two more good people.

"We are okay," Nebula stepped into view. One of her arms sparked and we did our best not to stare. "It looks like Danvers' friends are here. Someone is helping to fend off the Black Order."

Ten wordless minutes later and the situation was under control. There was far less shuddering and shaking. No mini-explosions and the creative expletives had trailed away. It was calm enough for Rocket and Nebula to have an argument, the words were muffled but nothing can ever quite cover up the tone of disagreement

"So," I said to drown out the argument, "going for a really early morning stroll or just couldn't sleep?

"Romanoff, Rogers," Nebula said as she stepped back into the light, cutting Steve off, "our attackers have been eliminated. Thanks to help from Danvers' allies."

"That's good news. Keep them with you in case any more track you down. Danvers is on her way. Make sure she can find you."

I sent an update to Carol as the blue light faded away, leaving Steve and I in an oppressive darkness. I never realised the sidelines could be such a forlorn place. I rested my head against Steve's shoulder. Well, really, his upper arm. Even leaning against my desk as we were, I couldn't quite reach.

"That was intense," he said.

"You can say that again."

"Sitting here, not able to do anything but hope for the best. Sort of gives me a new understanding of Fury."

"That's as far as you'll get. He prefers people stay out of his shoes."

Although, it has to be said, I wish I gained a new understanding of him in that moment as well. He was often stuck at headquarters and had to trust others to get the job done. He got his hands dirty but only to direct his many pawns with as great an accuracy as he could.

Did he worry like me?

Did he second guess every decision?

Did he ever feel out of his depth?


	21. Chapter 21

**11 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

A whole week gone since the attack on the Benetar.

They haven't turned up yet. Each day that passes the more alert we become. Even Rhodey and Okoye.

God how boring am I? Writing down how I watched other people salvage a dire situation. Talking about how I'm using my immense skills to push paper. And it's not even real paper. Just digital files. I'm not even at risk of a paper cut.

Way to go Natasha.

Nebula, Rocket and Carol are out there facing danger. You know, danger that more members of the Black Order will try to finish the job. Danger that the ship will fall to pieces around them. Danger that they might tear each other apart before they make it back to Earth.

Is it bad I'm jealous? I mean, sure, I'll always treasure the memory of Pepper's wedding. But all that was energy I'd usually put into taking down a bad guy. Instead of exploring actual space and facing down aliens, trading with them, or setting up a network we could later rely on, I was finding a dress and threatening the caterer.

I want to be in the thick of it again. So bad.

It's true I didn't choose this life. Not at first. Not really. I was forced through the Red Room like a lab rat is ushered through a maze, but I enjoyed Shield. It showed me my skills didn't have to be used for bad. I lived for the action. The missions however small. However big. Termination, extraction, intel-gathering, recon. All of it, and not just because it wiped away some of the red.

The adrenaline was addictive. It still calls to me. It keeps me alert and awake and active, and that keeps the bad memories and dreams away. It gave me calm. A sense of self.

And I'm denied it now, shoved behind the desk. Watching others put in the hard work. All I have is an emptiness and no amount of gym time or runs around the perimeter can fill it.

Doesn't stop me from trying though.

It keeps me mission-ready, but at some point it became a way to fool myself into thinking I might get into the field sometime soon. A small luxury taken away when I witnessed the new Avengers fighting the fight I was a part of, not so long ago.

Even Steve gets to knock some heads together, and I'm not sure his heart is in it anymore. It's alright for Bruce, he's not a fan of adrenaline. He prefers to be cooped up. Circumstances in his life made him shy away from the action.

Mine made me search it out.

But I can't. Not anymore. It's taking every ounce of willpower I've gathered over the years because the job behind the desk needs to be done, and I know how to do it. When I imagine Steve here instead of me, it's flashes of piles of teetering paperwork. Rushing from mission to admin because he can't quit the feeling of making a difference. It's as addictive as adrenaline. Even before the serum he was a man of action, couldn't sit still even though his doctors advised it.

Having spent years on ice, the pull was stronger than ever before.

I often think about what I would have done with my life if I wasn't trained to kill. It's hard to be sure. I have few memories of my life before, and I'm not sure if the ones that linger are real. But I do know paperwork is not in my blood. I would be _doing_ something, whatever kept me busy and fit.

Or maybe it's all part of the conditioning.

Does choosing to believe it's real make a difference?

The world is weird. I've said it a few times, I know. But every year seems to bring another surprise with it. I honed my skills and added to them so that I would always be of use. But how can I fit in now? What possible use can I be in this strange new world?

Well, would you look at that. I've gone from boring to self-pitying.

There are some days, you know, when I really think I can do it. Escape from the pull of the black hole that's threatening to swallow us all up.

Then there are others when I think it's best to just give in.

Anyway, I'm all over the place. I'm not sure what I've written even makes sense.

Better sign off for the day.

* * *

**15 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

The Benetar arrived last night.

They were slowed down by the state of the ship. It wasn't as bad as when Carol fished it out of space with Tony on board, but still enough to delay their triumphant return.

Steve and I spent the day shooting glances through the window in case the massive machine had found a way to sneak up on us. The sun sunk lower and the clock put up a decent argument of it being dinnertime. Bruce wandered in, realised we weren't up for even the smallest bit of conversation, and wandered back out.

That was when we felt it. The air vibrated. Non-stop and strong. The sort of vibration you felt in your bones and caused windows to rattle in their panes and glasses in their cupboards. My tablet tried to tremble its way over the edge of my desk. If there was a cup of water anywhere it would be shaking like hell. (Which reminds me, I need to add Jurassic Park to Steve's list of things to catch up on.)

It grew stronger until it became noise and there was no doubt we were hearing the damaged ship coming in to land. We made it outside just in time to see it touchdown on the lawn that seems to have become the unofficial parking space for our inter-galactic visitors.

I'm no expert when it comes to spaceships but I don't think this one had any right to still be in one piece. They were lucky to keep it afloat in the sea of stars they'd just travelled across, let alone keep it together once it entered the atmosphere. Some parts were still smoking, pieces of metal were hanging off, there were holes with makeshift patches, cracks along windows, and sparks flying. Thankfully the grass beneath was sodden.

It was a wreck of a ship. And I couldn't help but admire the resourcefulness needed to keep it running long enough to reach us. We were lucky to have this team of people working with us.

Though, judging from the state of them, they could quite happily rethink their commitment to the team. The raccoon muttered under his breath, little jaw working as he kept his temper in check. Hands were balled into fists at his side, clenching tighter as he limped. His usual gun was strapped to his back and his jumpsuit was stained by combat; blackened and torn. Fur had matted itself along his arms and around a gash on his cheek. A few of his whiskers were singed. Nebula had no trouble walking, but there was a whirring noise that followed her around. The arm I'd seen sparking during the conflict was patched up but she fiddled with it. There were smudges of fuel and little burn marks that suggested she spent much of the journey back keeping the ship in a working state.

Carol, however, was in the best nick. There were bags under her eyes and a bandage wrapped tight around her hand. Other than that, you could mistake her for a passenger stepping off a plane. A little worse for wear, annoyed with the people she was stuck in a confined space with, but okay for the most part.

"Heap of junk," Rocket muttered as he kicked a part of the ship he could reach. It responded by letting the ramp fall open behind him and refusing to close.

"Well done, fur ball."

"Shut it you-"

"Welcome back, guys," Steve said. Rocket and Nebula eyed him with a tired contempt as they walked past, Carol patted him on the shoulder. All made their way in silence, eager to have their own space once again.

"Friendly bunch."

"A tired bunch," I said to him.

The ache of a long mission. The relief of having somewhere safe to return to. The luxury of comfort and food and people who weren't targets. It burned deep within me. I hoped he couldn't hear the longing in my voice.

The next morning they were more talkative. Rocket had groomed his fur and, the wound on his cheek even looked less aggressive. The patching on Nebula's arm looked less makeshift and more permanent. Carol had changed the bandage on her hand.

"What happened there?" Steve asked.

"She put her hand where it didn't belong," Rocket said.

"I was just trying to help you stay on course."

"Doesn't make it okay for you to grab the steering controls."

"Wait," Steve said, "did he bite you?"

"What do you expect," Carol said, "he _is_ a wild animal."

"Say one more thing and I'll show you exactly what a wild animal can do."

"God, I've missed this," I whispered to Steve, who snorted into his coffee. As it turns out, the joke was on me. Once the recent arrivals filled their stomachs, they all decided it was a good idea to ambush me at my desk, cutting off any chance I had of escape. Of course, just because they ended up cornering me together didn't mean they had any intention of giving me a clear view of what the hell had gone on.

"It was not my source-"

"Yeah, well it was someone-"

"Shut it fur ball, let her finish-"

"I was recognised as a child of Thanos-"

"We're lucky the ship even made it here."

"Wasn't luck, it was my help. You're welcome."

"They hated him, so they hate me. The Black Order got involved later-"

"Nice of you to show up _after_ we won, by the way. Real heroic, you know."

"You won because of the people I-"

"-and they followed as we entered orbit, shooting without warning-"

"Hey Nat," a new voice joined in and the telltale blue tinge heralded the arrival of holo-Rhodey, "we've had more reports of - uhhhhh there's a lot of people here."

"-well tell your people to get better aim, they almost did as much damage as Thanos' goons-"

"As if their aim was bad, getting rid of you sounds like a good idea."

"Alright, that's enough. You're giving me a headache," I said. It was true, there was a faint pain threatening to spread and worsen if these morons didn't start acting their age. Though, if Rocket acted his age wouldn't he be dead? I'm not too clear on the life expectancy of raccoons, gun-toting or otherwise. To be fair, the glare from the hologram didn't do my tired eyes much good either. "Rhodey, is it urgent?" He shook his head. "Good, I'll bring forward our group meeting, we can discuss it then."

He nodded and hung up without a word, not wanting to get caught up in the circus he found himself in the middle of.

"Right. The rest of you. Talk one at a time or don't talk at all." I didn't like headaches. They reminded me too much of when the Red Room would play around with my head. Before the others could open their mouths, Nebula stepped forward and relayed her version of events.

"We went to meet my source, who had some information about my father's research. We retrieved the information without any trouble, but as we made our way back to the ship a couple of men-"

"They were drunk," Rocket said and all eyes turned to him, "what, that felt like something you needed to know."

"A couple of drunk men," Nebula continued, "recognised me. They were victims of my father, one way or another, and they wanted revenge. They advanced on me and Rocket started shooting. His distraction gave us an opportunity to run. It also drew the attention of some nearby members of the Black Order who recognised him as one of the people who stood against Ronan on Xandar. I do not know if they realised who I was, if they did then they would have known I was a traitor to my father as Gamora was. It is possible they have sent an alert out to other surviving members."

Even though we lost the Battle of Wakanda we still carved our way through a lot of Thanos's troops. It was possible they wouldn't waste people on a hunting party to bring down a traitor. But, you know, just as possible that they would. Nebula's anonymity was an armour and I just hoped it was still intact.

"The information I found-"

"Save it for the meeting," I said, "so the others can hear."

"It might be important."

"If it was you would have said something when you landed, or anytime over comms. I'm just sorry it caused all this trouble."

"It may yet prove useful," Nebula said.

"Hang on," Rocket barged his way into the conversation, "you not keeping this secret? I thought these little side quests were on the down low."

"Nah, I don't wanna be a Fury about it."

"It just kinda takes the fun out of it, you know. Sucks all the cool away. Terrans always ruining the fun."

I dismissed them and they walked away in a cloud of Rocket's disappointment. I smiled. It was for a short while and it wasn't for the best reasons. But they were back and, for now, they were okay.

* * *

**19 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

Soooooooooooo...

Remember when I might have implied I was happy the space triplets were back? Yeah, I take it back.

You'd think after all that time cooped up together they'd take the opportunity to have a breather. Find some peace and enjoy their own company. Or at least speak to someone different. The only one with enough common sense to do that is Carol. But it comes with the unfortunate side effect of her popping up out of nowhere and scaring the shit out of people. The amount of times Steve's hit the punching bag from its hook because she made him jump, or I've heard a yelp and the fluttering of paper piles collapsing to the floor when she's scared Bruce.

Rocket and Nebula, however, are joined at the hip. And for two people who don't have the best track record of getting along, it's not healthy for them (or for the rest of us). No matter where you are in the compound, you hear their arguments.

They behaved themselves during the team meeting but since then their feelings towards each other are a bit hit and miss. It doesn't help much because they need to concentrate to fix the ship. A lot of what's wrong extends beyond the superficial, but it's nothing they can't sort if they work together. It's especially important because the information Nebula got from her source leads to another planet. Thanos was paranoid and hoarded his knowledge. It wasn't clear if we'd find information there, or another scrap in what could become a galactic treasure hunt. Either way, we needed a strategy on approaching the next planet and we couldn't work on that because it was one Rocket had never heard of and Nebula was only vaguely aware of. But the information was available on their ship's system, which was damaged.

Soooooooooooo...

We're kinda stuck

And it's frustrating.

Though it's sort of made more bearable by the appearance of a shitload of ice cream.

Yesterday I went out for my run around the perimeter and came back to an email from Wong. He sent over some more references he found to the Time Stone and said I should check the freezer. It was full of my Halloween ice cream. Good thing I like cherry.

When I asked, Friday showed me security footage of the sorcerer portalling in minutes after I left that morning and smuggling in the frozen dessert. He even smiled at the camera before he disappeared.

Did you know ice cream was one of the first things I ate when I came to America?

Not that healthy but that's what you get when Clint attaches himself to your case and becomes your guide in the 'So, you want to go from bad guy to good guy' programme. A programme he founded and, no surprise, I was the first person to be subjected to its confusing and contradictory lessons. Again, a Barton special.

Porridge, or something like it, was the designated foodstuffs for new prisoners. It was the same stuff that came from the canteen but Clint called it a poor excuse for sludge. When he was entrusted with bringing me said sludge, he swapped it out for a bowl full of ice-cold sugary goodness. Considering my malnourished state, the sludge was the sensible option but I was hungry so I ate what was on offer.

A lot of the things back then is fuzzy. The first stage of my deprogramming started not long after I was brought in. It drew out memories I repressed or that the Red Room tried to get rid of, erased the triggers they'd cultivated in my brain, and had a short-term affect on my short-term memory. It was the most vulnerable I'd ever been and I was grateful to Nick and Coulson for keeping me out of sight of the rest of Shield.

And even though I didn't remember much from then I remembered Clint and his ice cream visits. I also remembered my arrival at the place that would later come to feel like home. It was far from a warm welcome, for either of us. They'd heard rumours about me and every single person there to witness me stepping from the jet had a gun trained on me. No one spoke to Clint as he lead me to Nick, no one so much as glanced at him. But he knew his boss well enough to know what was coming.

They accompanied me partway to a cell, then stopped just at a guard station and I was carried away. I was patient as I sat in my cuffs. They were easy to break out of. The Red Room's use of them gave me a healthy respect of what they represented. Shield wanted to feel like it was in control, I wanted to see how this opportunity would pan out. The cuffs stayed on but my mind remained free, so when the shouting started I didn't even pretend not to hear.

Clint was treated to a chewing out. He was reminded that it was Nick's job to give orders and Clint's job to follow them. And if he was any sort of good at it, there wouldn't be a skinny red-head sitting in one of their cells.

I didn't hear Clint's reply but my thoughts kept going back to the Director and how he spoke. There was heat to his words but it wasn't real. He shouted but it was all bluster. It scared the crap out of everyone else but I knew true anger and hate. I knew what it felt like to be shouted at and it never had that hint of pride underneath it all.

That was a puzzle I couldn't figure out. It was my first introduction to a place that valued people over skill, and it remained a foreign concept to me for far longer than it should have.

I'm not sure why I've wasted paper and ink writing this. Call it a fit of nostalgia.

One thing I am sure of though. I adore Steve and Bruce and the others.

But I _miss _Clint.

* * *

**23 October 2018**

Hi Tom,

It's been a tough month. How anyone can be so busy yet so bored is beyond me

More criminals have decided to rear their ugly heads. Kind of like the promise of Halloween is luring them all out of hiding. Rhodey's spent the last few days chasing down leads across the country. Leaving me to deal with one of our mandatory check ins. To make sure we're behaving ourselves. So much fun.

Steve's stepped in for a few things. I've kept him away from the UN, though. Captain America might be the darling of the United States but the rest of the world isn't so quick to forget he turned his back on them to protect a Nazi-employed assassin. It speaks to how far public figures can fall in the eyes of the world that they're more civil dealing with me than they are him.

The work is a little different, but the rest of it is kind of like old times. Comfortable silence as we make steady progress through the tasks before us. Before it might have been training plans for new recruits and mission reports for recent outings. Now it's agendas for meetings to come and reading over minutes for meetings already done. It was boring but having someone else there suffering with me made all the difference.

We joked and we complained and if I pushed my thoughts and feelings far to one side I could imagine Sam and Wanda in the training rooms. Pushed to their limits and complaining just as bitterly as us. He was practising aerial manoeuvres, swooping through the air and catching whatever he'd convinced someone to throw at him to make it feel less like training. Wanda was surrounded by red as she tapped into her powers, persuading the strands to do her bidding, maybe even throwing items up at her fellow recruit without using her hands.

Then, of course, Vision was studying them. Contemplation etched deep into his face as got accustomed to what sentience meant.

It's all so clear in my head, it's so easy to forget it hadn't been like that for years. I pine for the time before the Snap but that's when we were divided and on the run. How much longer could we have continued like that? It was a world I knew well but Steve and Sam were proud military men. They served their country and they hated being considered its enemies. Wanda was happy as long as she wasn't kept in a cell anywhere, the only thing that bothered her was not seeing Vision.

What I really pined for was the time when our biggest worries were getting the newbies in shape while not letting them burn themselves out. Sam tried too hard to emulate Steve, he pushed his body to limits it had no business reaching and was in danger of causing real harm. Forgetting that Steve had the serum coursing through his veins. And, while Wanda would push her mind further each session, sometimes causing her to collapse from sheer exhaustion, she was more interested in blending in. Her years with just her brother gifted her with strong survival instincts and they told her she needed to pass as an American. She modified her accent, updated her wardrobe, learned some of the history and went through the long and arduous process of coaxing her taste buds into accepting the Western cuisine. As she did all this she realised she wasn't much sold on the combat side of things but had fallen in love with the thrill of espionage.

She was good at it too. My only rule was that she only used her powers as a last resort when she was in spy mode. If she ever found herself without them she'd be thankful for the extra skills.

But I tried not to think about any of that. I tried to keep my thoughts on the present and focus on the words on my screen.

Not thinking is more challenging than anyone would have you believe.

* * *

**31 October 2018**

Happy Halloween Tom,

Do you know what that means? It's been over six months since the Snap.

Six months.

Six long months

And yet sometimes, it doesn't feel like that long at all.

Just like it feels like nothing has changed since Thanos' actions, yet everything has.

Half a year.

No one's celebrating Halloween this year. The country can't quite bring itself to poke fun at ghosts and ghouls and all things terrifying when, six months ago, all things terrifying paid us a visit and turned friends and family into ghostly memories.

Charities all over benefitted from corporate donations. Money intended for parties finding a new home.

I realised today that we haven't celebrated anything, aside from the wedding, since the Snap happened. Tony, Steve and Rhodey. All three of them have had a birthday. And not a single one wanted to mark it. Even the Fourth of July celebrations and fireworks on Steve's birthday were muted and half-hearted.

No one wants to admit that time is moving on and dragging us with it. It was a sad state of affairs, us all still in denial. The only thing I wanted to do about it was the usual. Carry on working until I forced a solution to appear.

Carol had other ideas. She strolled into the room where the rest of us were sat. Steve and I were working, I'm not sure what Rocket and Nebula were doing. Bruce was flicking through one of his scientific journals.

"A shame no one's trick-or-treating tonight, you two would fit right in," she said and pointed at the remaining Guardians.

"I have no idea what words you just said," Rocket snapped out of habit.

"Halloween, numbskull."

"What is Halloween?" Nebula asked.

"People dress up in costumes, kids tend to go door-to-door asking for sweets or threatening to vandalise houses."

"Sounds like something I might enjoy," Rocket said.

"Oh really," Carol said. She smiled and picked something up from the table. She threw it over the raccoon and he jumped off his chair covered in a white sheet.

"What the hell."

"Gotta dress up if you're going out. You're a ghost, all you gotta do is say 'boo'."

Rocket struggled to get out of the sheet and a few of us laughed.

"Thought you said he'd fit right in," Steve said.

"Yeah but this is more fun."

"Does that count as animal cruelty?" Bruce asked.

"Ugh, I guess you've got a point. Trust the scientist to make me feel guilty," Carol said and went to pull the sheet from Rocket. As soon as he was free he pounced at her but she grabbed him by the collar and put him back on his chair.

"One of these days," he said under his breath as she went to find her own seat.

"What else do you do on Halloween?" Nebula asked.

"Watch scary movies, tell scary stories. That sort of thing," I said.

"It's not scary, but I do have one about a man named Nick Fury and a cat called Goose. If you're interested," Carol said.

Steve, Bruce and I all perked up.

"Interested. Definitely interested," I said. I'd forgotten she'd promised to tell me this tale, but I recalled I said something about having the vodka ready. I went and poured some for everyone.

Carol leaned back in her chair, taking as much comfort from it she could and as much pleasure from telling the story as there was to find.

"Who else knows Fury?" She asked before starting. Steve and Bruce raised their hands, "good, more people will appreciate it then. For the non-Terrans, Fury is the guy who brought the original Avengers together. He likes to go around acting like he's scary as hell, and he has an eye patch to cement that reputation. Truth is, underneath it all, he's the furthest thing from scary..."

"Give me that book," Fury said. His voice boomed throughout the living room and startled everyone out of the story. Clint had never heard the man panicked or flustered and he fancied he could hear a bit of both in his usually very controlled voice. He grabbed the journal from Laura's hands, careful to keep it open on the right page.

"Why? What's go you so bothered, boss man?"

"Give me the damn book, Barton. That's an order."

"Oh, but I don't take your orders anymore," Clint said and pointed at Laura, "I only take hers. Retired, remember." As he spoke he inched his way atop the back of the sofa and rolled over it so he could have that and the coffee table between him and the man with a secret he wanted kept.

"Oh god dad, you're so embarrassing," Lila said from behind her hands.

"It's not smart to mess with me Barton. I'll have you back in the Raft if you don't give me that book right now," Fury said, leather coat flapping behind him as he stood form his seat. They both did an admirable job of circling the room. Clint kept whatever he could between them while Fury calculated the best way to get a hold of him.

"Sorry, _Nick_. You're threats don't scare me anymore since you headed up a disgraced agency and have a death certificate that predates the Snap. No one's gonna listen to you." Clint glanced at the page again and found where Laura had left off. He opened his mouth to start reading but Fury played a different card.

"Hill, grab that damned book from him."

"Sorry sir, you ordered me to take compassionate leave and ignore any orders you tried to give me for the duration," Hill said, watching the entertainment unfold.

"Who on Earth takes compassionate leave with their boss? Clint asked, forgetting the journal entry for the moment.

"I haven't taken it _with_ him, we just ended up going to the same place. Do you want me to switch sides, Barton?"

"Good point. I won't question your dynamic again. Anyway, where was I?" He paused for just a second then read from the book.

"'Carol interrupted herself and considered us for a moment and asked if we knew what a Flerken was. This time Rocket and Nebula nodded, the raccoon even shivered a bit while the rest of us shook our heads. Turns out they're a super dangerous alien species that look a lot like cats on Earth. When Nick and Carol searched for her files, Goose found them and decided to tag along for the ride, stowing away on a Quadjet with them. It was only when Talos, the Skrull leader, saw the cat that they knew she was a Flerken-'

"Am I saying that right?" Clint cut himself off to ask Fury, who still regarded him as if he was one of the most dangerous criminals he'd come across.

"Yes."

"Oh good. I'd hate to ruin this experience in any way," the archer said before continuing. "'Fury kept the cat at his side, not trusting the Skrull. Long story short, after travelling to a lab hidden in orbit, fighting Starforce, and witnessing Goose swallow the Tesseract, the mighty Nick Fury-'"

Clint was interrupted as Fury abandoned all strategy and lunged for him. The former Director wasn't as spry as he used to be but he was still more agile than most people his age. He almost got the book from the Clint's hands, but the archer twirled out of the way and carried on.

"-fussed the cat so much that she swatted at him, catching his left eye. I laughed so hard once she stopped speaking and it infected Steve and Bruce who had also been subjected to some of his 'you better be careful of you might lose an eye' stories. At least it explained why he was so concerned when I mentioned Liho.'"

Clint closed the book and grinned at his former boss before dissolving into laughter like everyone else in the room. Even the ones who only knew Fury from stories. Even Steve, who already knew the truth.

"But you said," Clint said as he tried to calm himself down enough to speak.

"Yeah, yeah. I said a lot of things, Barton."

"A cat, Nick. Really?" Hill tried to keep a straight face, she was the one who'd have to put up with the fallout later, but even she couldn't fight it.

"Romanoff, you really screwed me over," he said to himself.

"Oh don't blame her," Steve said, "the cat would have been let out of the bag eventually."

It took a good few minutes for everyone to calm down, but every now and then a smile would turn into more laughter. Fury was under no illusion the revelation would be forgotten. In fact, he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Or for as long as he kept these people _in_ his life.

"Hey," Hill clapped her hands and went to stand beside her boss, "do you reckon we can get a custom made scratching post for Liho that looks like Nick?"


	22. Chapter 22

"So, I was thinking," Cooper said as a lull fell over the lunch table. There were far too many people to fit comfortably so Clint and Laura had taken to dragging a couple of garden chairs into the kitchen and eating their meals from trays on their laps. "Shouldn't we let Thor and Doctor Banner know about the journals? Auntie Nat talks about them a lot."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Coop, honey," Laura said, all too aware that Clint and Steve had frozen.

"Why not, they'd want to hear them, wouldn't they?"

While Clint was on house arrest, his eldest had started to come into his own. He often gave wise counsel to his father, mother and even sister. Taking after Laura more than anyone else in the family. And he did a good impression of an adult, too. So good it was easy for Clint to forget he was still a teenager, one still lacking in life experience despite what he'd been through so far. His grief was no less important or real than that of Thor's and Bruce's, but it wasn't compounded by decades of struggle and loss. Coop was a kid who thought he knew himself, about to embark on life's never-ending adventure of self-discovery. Thor and Bruce had been on that journey for a long time. The former always had his destiny mapped out for him; Prince of Asgard and its future king and it was a path he walked with reluctance. Bruce had lost his way; going from scientist to the result of a compromised experiment. His very being split in two and he spent years thinking their differences were irreconcilable. And it was those two very different roads that led them to such pain.

Coop thought the journals would help them.

Clint thought they would hurt.

And so did Steve.

"It would be a mistake," the soldier said, and it was the most assertive he'd sounded since the battle at the compound. "None of you saw how bad they got. Nat's words don't do it justice. The reason she kept such a close eye on them, on _all_ of us, was to make sure we were still alive. We made it through those five years thanks to her. Whenever we wanted to sit down and give up she dragged us along until we were ready to support ourselves again. After the Snap, Bruce managed by rebuilding himself. Thor didn't manage at all. He spiralled into a depression none of us could help him out of. Both are in mourning and are coping with their unique pain. The last thing Natasha would want is to break down Bruce's coping mechanisms or to send Thor back into despair. They need to fix themselves before we show them the journals."

Steve's eyes travelled from person to person as he spoke, he was so sure that no one said anything for a few seconds and his words dangled on the air, daring anyone to pick at them. Clint almost face-palmed when Cooper spoke up.

"But the journals are helping us. I feel like they're gluing parts of me back together. It's imperfect but it's repairing."

"Not all broken things are fixed the same way," Wanda said, eyes focused on something in the distance, or perhaps looking back several years when it was harder to lay her memories of Pietro to rest, "you give water to a wilting flower, but you wouldn't pour it on a phone with a cracked screen."

"That would just make things worse," Lila said and Cooper nodded his understanding. The young Bartons lapsed into silence, not even digging back into their food. Everyone else ate what was in front of them and tried not think about if the journals were the wrong solution for them.

Lila nudged her brother's leg with her knuckles, he gave her a smile back. The knuckles were white from clenching. The smile was small, barely more than a grim line on what was once such a cheery face. Clint looked at Laura and saw that the twinkle in her eyes was a dull knock-off of the one he remembered. Had it been this way since they returned?

It hit him then, a horrible and unexpected blow, that maybe those who had lived the five-year-blip weren't the only ones struggling mentally. Epiphanies had struck him before, but never with this clarity. Never with this severity.

He wanted so much to forget what had happened on Vormir and at the compound, to forget his killing rampage. So he threw himself into his family. All his energy was ploughed into making up for the time stolen from them. Maybe he hoped to create enough memories to fill the five-year void, maybe he was in denial. Whatever the reason, he didn't speak about anything important. The only moment of true realism they'd had was when he told them Natasha wasn't coming back, that she'd traded her life, her soul, for theirs and a trillion other people's. He didn't talk because it made him think, and thinking made him feel. And the one thing he didn't want to do was feel.

But _they_ did.

Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nate. All of them needed to talk, wanted to. They wanted to think and feel and listen and be heard. They wanted to work through everything that had happened to them. Because, somehow, he'd forgotten that the Snap had happened to _them_. Not him.

Despite all that, they followed his lead, without question, because he'd never led them astray before.

_First time for everything_, he thought.

Instead of traipsing down the familiar path of blame and self-hatred, Clint found this revelation had sent him in a different direction. He'd turned his back on the reservoir of guilt waiting to drown him and instead walked towards the wave of relief.

He knew how to forge ahead. He knew the first step he needed to make to fix his family.

* * *

**2 November 2018**

Hi Tom,

Carol Danvers is a mystery.

That's my professional opinion.

She's gone again. Dropped her Fury truth bomb and headed off into space, or maybe to visit someone else on Earth. But she needn't have stayed so long. If you had the power to fly through space at will, what would keep you grounded?

I've asked myself that question just to find an answer.

A mission was the first thing that came to mind. If I was in a place because I had a particular goal or target, I wouldn't leave until it was accomplished. Though, mission doesn't seem like the right word, that would suggest she was working for someone else. I haven't seen her powers in action (apart from the whole flying business) but I'd read enough when I hacked into her files to know she packed a serious punch. The idea that she'd use those powers against us was disconcerting. More likely it was for her own purposes. She'd thrown her lot in with us but she didn't actually know us all that well.

Or she could be working up the nerve to visit someone. Earth was her old stomping ground, there was bound to be people from her past she knew. Maybe the Snap got them, maybe something else did. Or maybe they were still around. I catch her sometimes, zoned out. Her thoughts far from the compound and with them.

Then there's loneliness. Space is sort of massive, you know. Immeasurable. She flies through it as fast as she can but it still takes time. And time is the enemy when there are things that want to be thought. Maybe she just wants more time being distracted by the company of people, rather than reflect and regret over the things that went wrong.

Whatever she's feeling, whatever the reason for staying when she doesn't need to, she always finds it within herself to get going again. I get why Nick named the Avengers after her. It wasn't for her powers. It was for her spirit. She has grit and determination and never lets anyone get in her way.

The same can be said for the Avengers. Though, we did manage to get in our own way, didn't we?

* * *

**8 November 2018**

Hi Tom,

I analyse everything.

It's one of those automatic things I've come to rely on to help me feel my way through situations. It's how I spot things. Weaknesses, oddities, misbehaviour. I never paid it much mind and often acted on my hunches.

Until, with his dedicated tutoring, Clint pointed out that not everyone appreciated me coming up to them and blurting out my observations. That, in fact, to most it was considered a rejection of their privacy.

Since it's one of my essential tools for navigating a world I was kept separate from, I couldn't turn it off. I relied on those observations to keep me alive. Instead, I stopped saying anything. I pretended I hadn't noticed.

That worked out better for me than I ever hoped. Much more information fell into my web. And it became one of the ways I kept myself entertained living at the Avengers Tower. Biding my time then unleashing a well-placed comment or mystic quip to leave my teammates wondering just how I knew everything about them. It gave me a veil of omnipotence to hide behind. The only people it didn't freak out at first was Clint; who was used to my ways, and Thor; who knew actual omnipotent people in the form of Odin and Heimdall.

And I decided not to use it on Steve. When he went into the ice people knew of Captain America and when he came out they knew Steve Rogers too. Nothing was private anymore and it's something he's always struggled to come to terms with.

People thinking they knew him just because they studied him at school.

So, I figured he didn't need me spouting the knowledge I'd gathered since joining the Avengers. Or even what was drilled into my head about him as I grew up in Russia. In turn, he never judged me by my past.

And, with that wave of misty-eyed nostalgia out of the way, my long-cultivated knack for observation led me into a bit of trouble today.

When I say trouble, I mean causing it for other people.

I went into the city to finalise some of the details surrounding the Barton farm (long story short: I won), then a fit of whimsy more becoming of the archer than the spider overcame me, and I took a stroll through the snowy streets. I'd spent so long at the compound I had no idea what the general feeling was like amongst people who couldn't directly blame themselves for all that was wrong in the world. If the Avengers were going to make a special guest appearance at the anniversary event in Wakanda, general feeling was something we needed to know.

The results were mixed. There's still an undercurrent of anger and a well of sadness that felt bottomless. But they were angry _together_, they were sad _together_. From what I saw, people helped people. Offering comfort by sharing the pain. Easing that by sharing what joy there was to be found. These used to be streets and parks where almost everyone walked in their own little worlds, separate from the people they shared the space with. That was gone now, replaced with a sense of community.

This thought followed me back to my car. I slipped in, heated it up and watched as some of the snowfall melted. I only made it a couple of blocks when I pulled up again in one of the neighbourhoods that had become a haven for the displaced. This was another community, more desperate than the last I'd seen but no less compassionate for it. They lived on the streets and turned this stretch of abandoned buildings into a place for them to stay. It was an attempt to stay safe and warm.

People made their way in and out of their hideouts, the need for food gnawing at the back of their minds and in the depths of their stomachs. There were government backed schemes to help those forced onto the streets, but there were plenty here who'd rather take their chance under the night sky than place any amount of trust in the politicians that were supposed to look after them.

Can't say I blamed them.

As much as I sympathised with their plight, it wasn't any of this that made me stop. There were two guys; better fed than those around them and better groomed. Or, at the very least, they took great pains to cover up any signs of vagrancy. One of them was standing on the pavement beside a van, eyes darted everywhere. Every now and then his blond hair fell into his eyes and he shook it away. An ineffective lookout.

The other guy jumped from the van, which jolted at the sudden loss of weight and I swear I saw chains before he slammed the doors shut. That's when I saw the gun stuffed into the waistband of his jeans, no doubt copied from some hapless youth in a crime drama he spotted on TV.

They stood chatting and I tried to read their lips; until Friday chirped from my phone.

"Director Romanoff, Boss would like to know when you're coming back to the compound."

I made a split decision as I watched the guys walk towards a building and slide through a side door.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Friday. I'm a little busy right now. Can you do me a favour and patch the live security footage from that building to my phone."

I climbed out of the car and headed across the street, keeping one eye on my phone. This place still boasted its scars from the Snap. Gouged into the buildings themselves as well as the street. While the outside looked broken, the insides still worked. Big Brother was still watching. This was something people often overlooked but I was happy to take advantage of.

The two youths made their way up a lengthy corridor and turned right at the earliest opportunity. I crept through the door and didn't bother hugging the wall as I followed their path. There were plenty of doors dotted along the way, but they were interested only in the stairwell that took them to the basement level. I knew what would be down there before Friday showed me.

I stopped in the corridor before the stairwell to study the footage. As much as I wanted to race down the stairs and beat the crap out of people, I was at every disadvantage save for my skills. Outnumbered, enemy territory, no backup, unknown layout, unknown number of opponents.

The odds were kinda stacked against me. Though Clint would say it was a level playing field because while they had all those other things going for them, I had the one thing that counts. I was the Black Widow.

I tried not to entertain complacency like that. It was a sure fire way to lose.

And I needed to think it through if I was going to bring those three teenage girls out if this safely. They were guarded by middle-aged men. The youths I followed in were nothing but lackeys and they eyed the girls in a way that made me want to aim a gun between their legs.

And...

And...

A door opened behind me.

Time was up.

I tucked my phone into my pocket and span around, armed only with a smile and a look of quiet puzzlement.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was lost?" I said. The man was much taller than me and he was one of those stereotypical henchmen that looked as ugly as he was stupid. Shame that stupidity didn't stretch to believing me.

He growled out a 'no' and reached for me. I was thankful I opted for heels instead of flats. They hurt a hell of a lot more when I smashed one into a knee. As my new friend found out. He staggered and I took the opportunity to get behind him and lock my arm around his throat. With a strength I think I must have borrowed from Steve, I dragged him back through the door he appeared from and regretted my choice when I realised it was a communal toilet in desperate need of a clean. I held my breath as he lost consciousness.

It was a close run thing as to who was gonna pass out first.

I patted him down and relieved him of any weapons about his person. Better I have them than him. According to Friday's footage, no one had heard anything downstairs. As I left the pungent room I jammed the door so Mister Sleepy couldn't rejoin his friends if he woke up in time.

The stairwell was one of those that liked to absorb noise before throwing it back tenfold at the perpetrator. My footsteps stayed silent as I padded down each step, years of practice paying off. And, even though I felt confident enough with only my fists and feet, having the option of the gun and knife I'd just pilfered felt like a safety net. I would have brought my own, but lawyers tend to frown upon their clients walking into their offices armed and dangerous. Then of course, I kind of did a Steve and threw myself into this situation without thinking it through properly. So my favoured gun was enjoying some downtime in the glove compartment of my car. I did have my own knife in addition to my recently acquired one, but I trod a 'you can never have too many knives' way of life.

None of them were visible as the stairs levelled out and voices reached me from further on. If people with guns see guns, they tend to shoot first and ask questions later. I kept my hands unburdened and wished for a view from above. It was easier to take people on when I knew the layout, and this was far more enclosed than the warehouse at the docks.

Then I could have smacked myself upside the head as I remembered Friday and her constant vigilance. The footage was still rolling on my phone and I made out the doorframe I was hiding behind. The two youths had claimed a patch on the right, they leant against the wall, joined by three more of their kind. One of them was scrolling through his phone while another rolled a cigarette. I heard them speak in low tones, a few words reached me. It was enough to know not a single one of them was from America but the only common language they shared was English.

Their area of choice was annoying. If I strolled through the door I'd have them at my back. They might not look the most competent but I knew at least one of them had a gun; and you don't have to be competent to cause damage with those. There were three other men and these ones looked dangerous. Stomping around in combat boots and dark clothes, my bet was they had plenty of experience in this type of business. Neither of them had weapons on display but that meant nothing. They were a different animal, even to the ones in June with the Ukrainian children.

I could barely see the captives on camera but if I peeked round the doorway I'd see them and they'd see me. Almost in the blind spot, they were huddled together, flinching whenever one of the men moved. None of them tried screaming. Either they saw the sense in saving their voices, or they'd already used them and had nothing more to give.

I sighed. The best strategy was to take some of them out before the others realised I was there. So much for not going in guns blazing.

"Well, Friday, I hope you enjoy the show," I said as I slipped the phone into my pocket and replaced it with the gun. I stepped through the door and shot one of the more experienced guys twice. Once in the shoulder and once in the knee. He bellowed in pain as his colleagues span round, confused at what they should be looking for. Not helped by the girls who started screaming. One of them even managed to form the words:

"The Avengers are here!"

And that sent panic through the youths who didn't have much common sense, but had stumbled across enough in their life to know they were no match for a team of professional heroes.

In the chaos I shot another of the leaders, this time in the gut. Placed just right to cause him horrendous amounts of pain but not to kill him if he got medical attention some time soon. Then I grabbed one of the lackeys, who tried to run behind me, and smashed my gun against his head so he joined my buddy upstairs in the land of slumber. Three down, or at least incapacitated enough not to pose too much of a threat compared to the rest.

Those were better numbers.

Yells bounced off every available surface and ricocheted around the room but I stayed focused. Aware of all and allowing one of the other youths to grab me from behind to try and subdue me. I lost the gun but used his momentum and inexperience to turn us around so I was between him and the wall. As soon as it was close enough I lifted my feet and pushed them against it with force. It was enough to make my attacker lose balance and stumble to the floor. I flipped out of his grip, landed in a crouched position and launched myself at the next person stupid enough to advance on me.

It was another of the youths, the remaining leader was standing on the sidelines hoping I'd tire myself out.

That just spurred me on.

The youth got a punch to the gut and was thrown to the floor as I swept his feet out from under him. He whined as he realised what had happened, then hit his head on the ground. The muffled scream afterwards suggested he'd bitten through his tongue but I was too focused on the remaining two from his little gang of friends who decided to team up against me.

One aimed a punch for my head. I dodged. I caught player two in my peripheral as he aimed a kick my way. I twirled beyond reach. He had the audacity to look confused as the foot met no resistance and it struck me these guys actually thought they were good at fighting.

The guy who'd grabbed me earlier was back in the fray and I enjoyed myself as I took all three of them on. None of them could touch me while none of them could block my hits. Then:

One. Downed with a broken arm and ribs.

Two. Felled by my signature move. He seemed impressed with my acrobatics until he realised I was squeezing the breath out of him as I sat atop his shoulders.

Three. Killed by several bullets once the last man standing realised getting tired wasn't my thing.

I didn't mean to use him as a human shield but instinct had me dodge one way and the guy chose to come after me, not seeing what his boss was doing. He took the bullets meant for me. Bullets that would have missed both of us if he'd paid attention to his surroundings. I took a moment to catch my breath behind a boiler.

"What, no back up?" The last guy said and he was American. His voice sounded like it was made of gravel. One of the girls caught her breath. On it I heard her hope dying.

"I'm offended you think I need it," I said.

He laughed and we moved at the same time. He brought his gun up again and I ran in a different direction, throwing one of my knives as I went. It sank into his hand and he dropped his weapon with a curse.

Good news, Natasha, I thought. You got the gun out of play. Bad news, you've given the angry man a knife.

He pulled it from his hand as I charged him, wielding my own.

The last item in my inventory.

I blocked his attack and my knife ran along his arm. Blood bursting out in its wake. He swung with his unarmed hand and I dodged, using the split second of his imbalance to push him to the floor. Except, he didn't quite make it and was back on the attack sooner than I expected, barrelling past my defences and sinking _his_ knife into _my_ side.

Fuck.

It was superficial but it pissed me off he even managed it.

I twisted away to deny him the weapon, wrenched it from my hip and used both knives to attack. Slashing at his arms as he threw them up to defend himself. He had no clue where he was going and soon stumbled over the prone form of one of his colleagues. The arms came down, his eyes darted to the man on the floor. I span round, hopping onto one leg and using the other to kick him in the throat. He fell to his knees, gasped for breath and then I acquainted the heel of my palm with his nose and revelled in the crunching noise as it broke.

He fell to the floor unconscious when I hit him in the side of the head with the hilt of my knife and the fight was over. My side throbbed but I ignored it. In the grand scheme of things the pain was nothing and I needed to get the girls out of there.

When we exited the building there were sirens in the distance. Invited by Friday, no doubt. I ushered the teenagers past the van they had been destined for, and into my car on the other side of the street. As I drove back to the compound I tried to hold gauze against my wound. Until the girl sitting in the front passenger seat took it from my hand and held it in place for me.

"Thank you," I said. I don't like people I'm not familiar with touching me, especially if that touch is to administer first aid. But I needed two hands to traverse the snow-covered roads.

She shook her head and kept her focus on the wound. Blood had long since stained my blouse and jacket, which was a shame; I liked the jacket. She was quiet, shocked to timidity by her capture and the suddenness of her rescue. I almost missed her whisper.

"Thank _you_, Black Widow."

Along the way I asked them the basics. Where were they from, how long had they been captive, how were they taken. You know, the usual conversation starters. I got enough information back to know they were from the city and since the Snap they'd lived among the other displaced people. They weren't sure how long for but there were other girls; moved before I turned up.

There was silence after that. And some sniffling.

I pulled into the garage and the bright lights were blinding after the blackening night sky. I motioned for the others to get out of the car and grabbed my gun from the glove compartment.

The main building was quiet and that in itself was odd because I knew we were sporting an almost full house today. But the girls deserved a hot shower, hot food and a comfortable place to sleep, so I didn't get too caught up in the mystery. As soon as they were settled I retired to my room, keen on avoiding everyone, and set about cleaning and stitching my wound.

Other girls missing.

One more person dead.

Would sleep even dare to try and take me tonight?

* * *

**9 November 2018**

Turns out last night wasn't as sleepless as I thought it might be. Maybe handing out impromptu beatings was the way forward.

Still, it wasn't without its drawbacks. The dead guy from yesterday made an appearance. As did the missing girls. I know dreams are the brain's way of processing everything it had witnessed throughout the day, but I did have to wonder what sort of kick it got from focusing so much on the bad.

I woke up early enough that I expected to be the first one up and about but Pepper was in the kitchen, sipping on her herbal tea while breathing in the moreish fumes of the coffee she'd put on for everyone else. There was a paper on the table in front of her but she ignored it in favour of the tablet she was tapping against. She'd also discarded her bowl of half-eaten, healthy-looking goop.

"Spent the night," she said at my quizzical look, "neither of us fancied driving in the dark with all this snow and ice." I'd forgotten they were there. Tony wanted to see Nebula before she and Rocket disappeared again. Apparently facing death in the middle of space really brings people together.

There was a patter of paws and the raccoon himself made an appearance. He never looked ruffled after sleep. Did he have to brush his fur or did it just stay in place?

"Morning suckers," he said as he jumped into a chair, picked a mug from the pile Pepper had organised on the table and held it out to me as I began to pour my own drink. When I filled his cup he didn't take his eyes off me and I waited until I was settled before I prodded.

"What's up, whiskers?"

"You're fearless." I was going to ask what he was talking about but he carried on. "Jumping right in there, knowing jack about it, no gun. Fearless."

Whatever reaction he expected it wasn't the anger that I felt surge through me. Any trace of fatigue was burned away in the whiskery face of the annoying sack of bones sat in front of me.

"After all your stories I thought you were fearless too."

"Don't go anywhere without my gun, ain't stupid. Huh, maybe that's a better word for you."

I was about ready to lunge at him when Tony strolled through the door, acting oblivious to his surroundings as he gave Pepper a kiss and became the third person to go for the coffee. "Hey super spy," he said, "good adventure last night? Not sure about Friday but_ I_ definitely enjoyed the show."

"Did everyone see what happened?"

"Pretty much," Pepper said, looking a little abashed. I downed what was left in my cup, scraped my chair back and ignored the Starks' protests as I started to make my way out of the room. I stopped when Rocket grabbed my hand, well a finger - it's not like his hands are that big. He sighed as I glared daggers at him.

"Look, alright, I'm sorry or whatever. I get mean when I'm pissed. Quill was stupid, you know, when he punched Thanos, Gamora was stupid on Knowhere when she attacked him. Stupid again when she took him to the Soul Stone. I'd appreciate it if morons stop doing stupid things and dying on me."

"It may have escaped your notice, but I'm not dead."

"I woulda put money on Gamora outliving all of us, you know. That broad was resourceful-"

"'Broad'. What are you, a 40s PI?" I said and quirked an eyebrow.

"I really don't get your Terran humour, you know," he sighed but carried on regardless of the interruption. "My point is, you remind me of her. Too much. She's the only other person I know badass enough take a knife used to stab her and go on the offensive with it.

"Just don't be stupid."

He let go of my hand and stood awkwardly on his chair, not sure where to go from there. I think he wanted to hide in the engine of his ship but before he could scurry away I grinned and patted the top of his head, doing my best to mess up the fur. He swatted at my hand with both of his, desperate to get me away from him.

"Or do. Whatever. Not like I care," he grumbled, patting down any errant strands of fur that dared to break the mould. I was about to tease him when I heard the rumble of Steve's voice and a cacophony of footsteps that meant he wasn't alone. Soon the kitchen was overcrowded as the three girls poured into the room. Steve hesitated only slightly as he noticed Tony standing with Pepper. He said morning to the room as a whole and the previously mentioned billionaire stiffened.

"Girls," Pepper said once they'd settled down at the sight of two famous people and a raccoon in a jumpsuit, "Natasha and I have spoken and we're going to set you up at one of our facilities."

I didn't hear the rest because Steve sidled up to me. He didn't say anything at first, opting to study me and glare at my side where my knife wound was.

"Can I help you?"

"Just wondering how you're doing."

"Well you're not going to get the answer from my hip. It's my mouth that speaks."

He smirked and dragged his eyes away from the offensive wound he couldn't even see. Though, it didn't erase the crease in his brow as he continued to worry. I grabbed him a cup and added him to the coffee club and we walked into the corridor, leaving the noise behind.

"I'm fine," I said and noticed as he got half a step in front, leading where we were going. I internalised a sigh; I'd bet everything by the end of this little walk we'd be at medical.

"You were stabbed, Natasha."

He used my full name, which meant he was more than just concerned. Again, I'd put my money on angry.

"Just a flesh wound, I've taken care of it."

"Funny, Claire says there was a lot of blood."

"Who's Claire?"

"One of the girls you saved. Honestly, you take a knife for them but you don't learn their names?"

I realised he was right. I'd asked them a whole bunch of other things but never what their names were. I shrugged. "Was focusing on getting them back safe."

We turned into the corridor that led to medical and I saw Bruce busying himself with setup through the floor to ceiling glass wall. Steve shot me a look, waiting for my admonishment. I'd hate to disappoint the man.

"You tricked me," I said as we came to the door.

"No I didn't. But I'm learning."

Bruce jumped as we came in and I had to wonder why. He couldn't not see us walking towards the room.

"I'm staying, just to make sure you don't sweet talk your way out of it," Steve said.

"I don't need a babysitter."

"And yet I think you do."

Another internalised sigh and I was sitting on the side of the bed, lifting one side of my top up so Bruce could inspect it. I was fine. I didn't need him to check my wound out, I'd been patching myself up for as long as I can remember. But I could endure the indignity of a non-medical doctor prodding the sore spot more than I could Steve's natural mother hen tendencies.

We stayed silent as Bruce did his work; gloved fingers traced the stitching and prodded at the area around the wound. He checked my vitals and, once he was done, straightened back up and rocked back onto his heels.

"Nothing vital hit, done a good job with the stitches."

"Not my first time, doc," I said and settled the fabric back over my wound.

"Still gotta hurt though. I'm going to prescribe you some painkillers until it heals up. Don't be a martyr about it Nat," he said the last bit in the correct belief I was just about to protest. This time I let the sigh out. Pick your battles, this one wasn't worth it.

"Fine. But you need to answer a question first."

"That's not how this works."

"Does when I'm involved. Seems I had a starring role in the movie you watched last night, you'd think I'd get paid for that sort of thing. What the hell happened?"

"Ah, well, um." Bruce tried to speak but seemed unsure on how to actually start. Steve took pity on him.

"Friday told Tony you were busy. When he persisted she mentioned that you'd requested access to security footage of that building. He demanded that we see it too and we sort of saw the whole thing."

"Great," I said. Even though my name was out there and people had started sort of recognising me since the debacle with Shield /Hydra, I still preferred not to show up anywhere.

"Don't worry, Tony made sure we have the only copy of the footage to exist. He did his magic and made it look like the cameras stopped working a few days ago. Said he's going to add it to his 'Reasons I'm scared of Romanoff' folder."

Steve stopped talking and both of them looked at me. For my part I looked straight ahead and did my best to ignore them. That grew a whole lot more difficult when they sat either side of me and Steve pulled me into a one-armed side hug.

"Try not to do that again, Nat," Bruce said. He spent a while trying to look me in the eye but I managed to doge all attempts.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "if you're not around who's going to stop us from doing something stupid?"

"You can stop your own damn selves from being stupid. All you gotta do is think, it's not hard."

After that I went and caught up on my work. People dropped by every now and then even though it was clear I wasn't in a talking mood. That didn't stop Rhodey though, he spent a lot of time stretched out on the sofa talking about all sorts of things. I think he was trying to get some sort of reaction out of me, judging by the smile when I almost snapped at him. After that he made a game of it and turned his stories into something even more ridiculous and we ended up laughing.

Pepper and Tony left with the three girls. In exchange I got an invite to theirs for Thanksgiving. I turned it down. Bruce was going and that would leave Steve alone.

Claire hugged me before she left and muttered another thank you. I was glad she was safe, now. The other two as well. But pissed that there were more that had disappeared.

* * *

**14 November 2018**

We waved Rocket and Nebula off today. Once they got the system up and running it was easy enough from there.

They were a lot more settled than when they first arrived and I think it's something that's taken them both by surprise. From what I gather they're both used to travelling, their ship is their home and they've never felt like that about anyplace else.

I hope they're starting to feel that about here. It's a lonely existence jumping from place to place without somewhere to relax.

We've been through the data that Nebula got and they're heading to the coordinates provided. It's a bit of a trek so they won't make it there for a while.

Steve knows I'm looking for information on the stones, he's started to go through the Time Stone texts with me.

We're all working towards something.

Hopefully it's something worth working towards.

* * *

**22 November 2018**

Happy Thanksgiving Tom,

My last one was in a safe house hidden away in a country that doesn't celebrate the holiday. Steve, Sam and Wanda were there, too

And I thought we didn't have much to be thankful for then.

Little did I know.

There were no parades today, no national events. Just a presidential speech to mark the sombre occasion of our first Thanksgiving since Thanos.

We tuned in for the first couple of minutes. Then Steve turned it off and disappeared. It was just the two of us; Bruce left yesterday for Tony and Pepper's.

No one was working and I caught up on everything pretty quick. I had a free day and nothing to fill it with. The weather was too miserable to go for a run outside. While it had been snowing earlier in the month, today we were treated to a torrential downpour.

I almost went to the roof, the desire to feel the rain pelting against my face, soaking my hair and clothes, was almost all-consuming. But if I went out there Steve would follow, and it didn't seem to be much in the spirit of Thanksgiving to force my friend into the rain.

I settled for the gym.

My little knife wound no longer twinged when I stretched or exercised, not that it stopped me much. It was just nice to train without the extra discomfort.

The seconds slipped by in quick succession and before I knew it a couple of hours had disappeared. I would have carried on but Steve's voice boomed over Friday's intercom system.

"Romanoff, go grab a shower and meet me in the kitchen."

I ignored him and carried on working through my routine of linking swinging punches and spinning kicks into a lethal and indefensible combination.

"Now, Nat."

I grumbled and tried to convince Friday to tell me what he wanted, but she refused and I was forced to head into the shower ignorant of what was so urgent. I turned my head to the cascading water and closed my eyes, pretending I _did_ end up on the roof and I _was_ feeling the rain drum against me. I don't know why it soothed the restlessness within, but it did.

A few minutes later I was walking down the main corridor and Steve was stood outside the kitchen, waiting and clearly failing at keeping his face neutral. He'd changed into something a little less casual since I saw him last.

"What's up soldier?" I asked and strolled past him into the kitchen and dining area. There was a meal laid out on the table. It wasn't your traditional Thanksgiving feast, but rather a mish mash of our favourite foods.

"Steve," I said, more than a little lost for words, "this is-"

"I mean, don't get ahead of yourself," he said as he walked past and to the table, "I'm the chef after all. We might need to order takeout."

"But, why?" I followed him to the table and sank into my seat. He'd gone all out and though I was eating more now, this was way too much.

"Because..." he paused and gathered the words he needed for something he didn't think he'd have to verbalise. "Because it's easy to say there's nothing to be thankful for, right now. It's easy to look at the negative and give up. Because we've lost a lot of people, a lot of _good_ people. But not you, and I'm grateful for that. Thankful, even. That you're still here. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."

He gave an awkward cough as he finished but he didn't look away and the sincerity in his eyes, the same one behind his words, was something I didn't think I could ever get used to. Ever since the Battle of New York we'd worked side by side, getting used to each other and forming a formidable duo. One that lasted throughout Shield, brought the agency down, and led the Avengers together. Even the Accords didn't quite get in the way. The only person I'd been through more with was Clint. And the only reason I was able to carry on in his absence was because of the man in front of me. Somewhere along the way, he'd transferred over some of his passion for doing good and that insufferable optimism. And no words I could say would ever be good enough to tell him how much his support meant. So I jumped on his coattails.

"Same," I said and offered him my glass to clink against in a toast to our friendship.

"Oh, and Nat," he said and I looked up to see an impressive smirk, "happy birthday."

"I thought we weren't marking birthdays?"

"Well, maybe we should. And it didn't stop you from looking after me on mine, or even putting that sketchbook in my room."

"Let me guess, rumbled by Friday?" Steve nodded as I looked up at nothing in particular. "Snitches get stitches, Friday."

"Correction, Director Romanoff. The only one who had stitches was you."

We both laughed at the AI and spent the rest of the day in each other's company. We crossed a lot of films off Steve's list.

He _is_ right Tom, it's easy to say there's nothing to be thankful for. But I _am_ thankful Thanos didn't take him. I'm thankful we found Tony and brought him back and that he's going to become a father in a couple of months. I'm thankful Bruce has found a way to accept and embrace himself. I'm thankful that even though half the universe is gone, there's no lack of people wanting to step into the void and help, fight the fight, like the missing Avengers did.

Sam and Wanda weren't with us, like last year. Their infectious attitude is gone from our lives. I'm determined that a half-hearted gathering in a safe house won't be their last Thanksgiving.

* * *

**AN: Hi guys! I hope you're all well and safe :)**

**A bit of a long chapter this one, apparently the more trouble I have writing a chapter the longer it is! I just wanted to give you a little heads up that in the future my posts might not be weekly. It might not happen straight away and I'll do my best to write in advance to keep the posts regular because I don't want to leave you hanging.**

**Also, where I'm from we don't celebrate Thanksgiving so I've kind of kept the details vague on purpose, but figured I couldn't go through the month of November and not mention it - I also hadn't planned on mentioning Natasha's birthday, I was going to ignore it like the other characters have theirs, but when I saw it was the same day as Thanksgiving in 2018 it felt like a sneaky co-celebration was the sort of thing Steve would do.**

**As always, thank you everyone for your follows, favourites and comments. It really is more than I ever expected for this story :)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hi guys, hope you're all safe and well**

**Here's a Christmas chapter for you in July!**

* * *

**2 December 2018**

Do you know what I'm sick of, Tom?

Christmas songs.

Doesn't matter if they're carols or the pop hits, I don't want to hear them anymore.

Bah freaking humbug.

They've been on since the beginning of November. Wherever I go there's a sugary sweet Christmas track ready to give me a cavity. Over and over again until they're stuck in my head, so that even when there is no music playing the words are on an echoing loop in my mind, breaking through my concentration and intent on driving me to the edge.

Sometimes Steve walks down the corridor, humming this song or that. Every now and then I recognise the tune; he had a talent for mangling them - but not enough to stop the infection from spreading to Bruce.

Sometimes I miss the early days of our post-Snap world when we avoided each other.

Why am I writing about it today? What is the thing that has driven me to documenting my inner Grinch?

Tony's hacked my one refuge in this Christmas indulgent nightmare; my playlist. Crafted through years of careful curation. Ruined by a man with too much skill and not enough to keep him busy.

Just as I'm getting into my work and forgetting the plague of conveyer belt Christmas spirit, _All I Want for Christmas is You_ pops up. When I think I've expunged that and all other unwanted songs _I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday_ makes an appearance. When I ask Friday to put me through to him so I can spend the next twenty minutes telling him exactly what I'm going to do with every part of his body once I've hunted him down and dismembered him, I'm put on hold to the tune of _Baby it's cold Outside_ before I can say anything.

I don't want you for Christmas.

I certainly don't wish it was Christmas every day.

And yes, it is cold outside but Russia is colder.

Ugh, Steve's just walked past singing _Deck the Halls_. I'm going to the roof before I tell him to fa la la la la -uck off.

I dunno. Maybe Thanos did kill me and I'm stuck somewhere worse than hell.

* * *

**4 December 2018**

Video calls are the name of the game.

I think they're Pepper's new obsession.

She always preferred face-to-face meetings, not much of a fan of talking at a screen. But since Tony, Rhodey and I overcame her stubborn streak and insisted she start taking it easy she's started to work from home fulltime.

Not just that.

She's turned her bed into her control centre and rarely changes out of her pyjamas into her work clothes. Tony says she's really taken our whole 'you need to relax' conversation to heart. I think it's because in the late stages of pregnancy comfort is a hard to come by luxury.

The same thing happened with Laura. There came a point when she found the days almost unbearable. The baby pressed against one organ or another, her back hurt all the time, any amount of heat made her life unhappier, and whenever she thought she might get some sleep the baby had other ideas.

Clint, always in awe of her, did what he could to make her feel comfortable but since it was half his fault she was in that position, he got his fair share of _I hate yous_.

With Tony taking care of most Stark Industries business, Pepper had more time to focus on the orphans. Our current problem; Christmas.

"I don't know," I said as we discussed the benefits of going over the top, despite both of us feeling it was insincere, "how did you celebrate Christmas growing up?"

Our biggest question was how do you make a family holiday special for children when family is the one thing they don't have. We'd spent a couple of months trying to answer this question and now we were in danger of not doing anything for them.

"Just like everyone else, I guess," she said before flicking her eyes to something off screen and frowning a little, "sorry, Tony's being Tony. Anyway, the thing I remember most was Christmas morning, not so much the opening of presents, though I did enjoy that, but it was having everyone gathered around the tree. I can't wait to share that with this little one, either."

She covered her stomach with her hands, looked down and smiled. Apparently it was the balm to whatever havoc Tony was wreaking. It was something she did more of the closer her due date loomed.

"Well, the least we can do is make sure they have something to open," I said, "they can do that together."

"I've thought about that but making sure every single child has something they like, that sounds like an impossible task."

"Not impossible when you have an exceptional profiler on your team."

"Are you sure? There are hundreds of kids just in America."

"Yeah, it'll be fine. Steve's pretty adept at it too, so I'll rope him in. And not all of the children will celebrate Christmas, we don't want to offend them by disregarding their upbringing."

"Okay, I'll leave that with you then. Thanks Nat."

"Is there anything else that stands out?" I asked, reluctant to delve deeper into the can of worms we'd opened.

"Err, not anything that would help now. What about you? Was it any different in Russia?"

"You could say that," I said, not really wanting to remind her but knowing I'd have to say something, "it was a non thing where I grew up. My very first Christmas was in America with Clint and his family."

"Oh crap, sorry Nat. I forgot."

Apart from Clint, Laura and Steve (oh and a brief conversation with Bruce at the farm), I'd never outright told anybody about the ins and outs of my childhood. And I knew that they would never pass on the things I did tell them to another soul.

Shield was a different beast, though. I had to share stuff with Nick when I defected. It was part of the deal. But all he knew were the end results, the things I was capable of and the things I had done; but not the things that had got me there. Beyond what came out during my deprogramming he was clueless. All of this made it onto my file. A file, I knew, Tony had hacked long before I dumped everything on the internet. It included the basics such as: grew up in a super secret spy training facility.

So, while I didn't talk about my past much beyond two Bartons and a Rogers, I knew fragments of information floated around the rest of the team and our various associates. I found I didn't mind. At least, not with Pepper.

"Don't worry about it."

"On the bright side, you have a better understanding than I do of what they're going through."

"Will your glass ever not be half full?"

"I'm serious. No family, stuck with children you didn't know. What did you want most when Christmas came round?"

I lapsed into silence as I thought about it. A prime opportunity Tony took advantage of as he caused another commotion Pepper's end. Hers was a difficult question to answer. From our very first days in the Red Room we were taught not to want anything other than to complete our missions and to serve our country in any way we could. Anything childlike was stripped away. What I do remember, though a lot of things aren't clear, is how alone I was. It wasn't something I focused on often because when I did it was all encompassing.

Maybe the other girls felt that way but no one dared to show it. Girls were killed for less. We were surrounded by people at all times. The guards who were trained to discipline us, our trainers who believed suffering and pain were the best teachers, the other girls who were all trained to be ruthless with their kills. No one connected with anyone.

Well, almost no one.

Yelena swam into view and rather than think about what I might have wanted I thought about what she definitely did. Really, I think it's what we all wanted in there; where to be kind was to be weak and compassion was a sin.

"A friend," I said. I didn't look at Pepper because while she was a badass in the boardroom, outside of it she wasn't always able to hide her true feelings. And pity didn't help anyone, whether it was seen or not. She waited a few seconds before answering.

"Maybe we should have focused on _that_ in the run up. Organised activities and events designed to bring them together. The biological family might be gone but that doesn't mean they can't make a surrogate one in the facility. This is mo- what is that noise?"

I laughed as she tried to see past me, confused by what was going on. Not that she'd see anything. The interruption was coming from the corridor.

"Oh, that's Steve. _Singing_. I think he swallowed a Christmas themed jukebox."

She laughed and pulled a face as the 'singing' continued.

"Poor you, I thought someone was murdering a cat."

"I'll murder him in a minute if he doesn't find the mute button. He's tiptoeing around trying to decorate the compound in secret. I think he thinks that just because I don't like the music I don't like Christmas. As if I'm not going to notice twinkling fairy lights turn up out of nowhere."

She laughed again and it came to an abrupt stop when a thought struck her. She brought her hand to her cheek and this time it was Steve who took advantage of the silence as his singing wafted in to fill it. "I don't think any of the facilities have decorated yet. We can have an organisation wide decorating day. In the common areas and their own rooms. That way everyone gets a say and they can start to make it feel like home. It's not much but it's something. I really should have started planning this sooner. We'll talk about next Christmas in January."

"You don't run one of the most successful companies in the world for nothing," I said, sighing at the thought of more Christmas planning, then looked at the work waiting for me on my desktop and sighed again. With the anniversary in April, Christmas was the least of my worries. "How are you going to encourage everyone to take part? Decorating isn't high priority."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew what she was going to say. Since we rescued those three girls in the city last month, there had been an increase in requests to have us visit the facilities. At first it was just the one they went to and when that became common knowledge, all of them joined in, turning a single voice into a deafening clamour.

I'd heard on the grapevine that Claire and her friends were telling anyone who would listen (which happened to be a lot of people) that they've met the Pepper Potts-Stark - you know, the one who runs this joint. And, due to popular demand, they've recounted their rescue over and over again. Each time the embellishments getting bigger.

_I_ remember fighting off nine people. Five of them clueless, two of them not given a chance to get involved, one of them with just-above average skill. But my memory must be a little off. According to Claire I fought off fifty fully grown, armed and armoured men with nothing but my wits and fists.

I mean, not beyond the realms of possibility but definitely not what happened this time round.

So far, Pepper's refused any travel on the grounds of being heavily pregnant. I declined on the grounds of not wanting to go. Well, I said I was busy with running the Avengers, but the not wanting to was implied. A lot.

"Simple-" Pepper said, confirming my horror with a not so subtle smirk.

"Oh no. No. No," I said.

"We give them what they're asking for. We'll hold a competition, the facility with the best decorated common area gets a visit from us at some point next year. And I mean _both_ of us. And the child with the best decorated room gets a tour of Stark Tower and the Avengers Compound with a plus one." She clapped her hands together and I heard Tony take up the applause.

"I don't know what we're clapping," he called from out of shot, "but well done ladies. Hey, Pep, you told Nat she's invited for Christmas?"

She sighed and levelled me with a no nonsense glare that no doubt had employees and competitors alike quivering in their seats.

"You heard the man, you're invited for Christmas. Please say you'll be here."

"No can do. For one thing, I hate you right now," I said and waited until her laugh faded away before getting serious, "and for another, I won't leave Steve alone."

"He's invited too."

"You know he won't go, and you know Tony won't say anything just because you invited him. Even then, there are no guarantees about how long he'll stay quiet."

"I wish those two would stop being so stubborn. they need to at least talk if they're going to work through this." There was a yelp from Pepper's end and she jerked back to see what was going on. "Sorry, Nat. Need to go before my husband finds a way to destroy our brand new house."

The screen went blank and I was left staring at a draft itinerary of the anniversary events. All suggestions from the world leaders were crass and exploitative. Both Okoye and Rhodey wanted something more genuine and so far our meetings were about as productive as the call with Pepper.

It was crammed full of this and that, speeches and readings and songs. Parading of military might, including the official entrance of the Avengers. A flyby of Wakandan crafts, followed by jets from various air forces around the world. Some even said they wanted Ironman and War Machine to join it.

I was going more for the route of less is more.

Just had to decide which empty gesture was going to pacify more of the world's populace than the other. All three of us were still hoping for a brainwave to give us the perfect thing.

Steve's solo progressed to a duet with Bruce and I think they intended to try and get me to join in, at least their voices were coming my way.

So I packed up my things and headed to the roof for some peace and quiet.

* * *

**7 December 2018**

Spoke to Valkyrie today.

We haven't heard from Thor since he spoke to Bruce.

She says he's okay.

Guess we have no choice but to believe her. Bruce trusts her, so that's enough for me.

We invited Thor back for Christmas, extended the invitation to Valkyrie, too. She said she didn't think they'd make it.

Bruce and Rhodey are going to spend Christmas at Tony's. It feels like an age since I last spoke to Rhodes properly.

Busy people with busy lives don't make for good socialisers.

Steve's still humming his way through the compound. I've never seen him get so much into the Christmas spirit. Something isn't right there.

* * *

**12 December 2018**

Fucker threw a snowball at me today.

It's like he's lost all survival instinct.

I tossed back a few choice words and waded through the snow towards the compound.

He called after me and then fucking threw another one. Damn him and his super serum accuracy.

It was grey outside, cloud dusted the sky and all light was filtered through it. Colour was muted wherever I looked, not that there was much colour in the depths of winter. In fact, the only brightness I saw was Steve's red Christmas jumper (which he was foolish for wearing, if he was going to start a snowball fight he could at least consider the need for camouflage). His cheeks were red, too. Under constant attack from the cold air; bitter and biting.

He was the only point of colour in the drab and dreary world and for a second I looked at the whiteness around me and considered digging in and building an arsenal of icy weapons. I thought about throwing and running and ducking and dodging and diving until we were exhausted. I wanted to do it because it something.

Something different, something mind-numbing. Something easy.

But then laughter from the past bubbled up in the back of my head; bright and innocent and childlike.

Laughter that was silenced now.

The urge passed. The snow weighed down on my own grey mood even as it seemed to lift Steve's. Even the cold smell got my hackles up. I turned and continued my trudge to indoors, calling behind me.

"Better get inside before you wake up in another seventy years."

* * *

**17 December 2018**

It's early in the morning and dark outside.

Everything was still. Of course, as soon as I thought that my mind started to recite _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_.

I haven't slept much this month. That dream of blood and ash keeps coming around. It's been so bad that whenever I head to bed I'm roaming around the compound again within a couple of hours. The last decent sleep I had was when I stormed the building in the city.

I used the extra hours to finish everything Wong sent me.

There were a lot more texts than I expected. None of them led to amazing revelations, but they gave me a better understanding of the stone, and understanding is the first step of anything.

I have no fucking clue how we're going to bring everyone back.

I look at the research I've done, at the progress Nebula and Rocket have made towards their destination, and I know there's so much more to do. And every time I do I see the vastness of the task.

The impossibility of it.

Day in and day out I sit at my desk and think how arrogant I am. I'm less than a drop in the ocean and I think I can make a difference in the outcome of the universe. Me and my guns are nothing in the face of threats and powers like Thanos and his endless army.

The others give me doubtful looks, sometimes flashes of sympathy and I understand why. I was throwing myself down a rabbit hole where I could easily lose my mind.

But someone has to make a difference. Someone had to be the one to get the ball rolling. So maybe it wasn't so arrogant of me. Maybe my research would inspire someone better equipped to change things for the good.

And I said that to myself every time I opened another document from Wong, every time I checked in with the space adventurers. All effort counts. Someone will find a way to fix things.

You never know what knowledge will unlock possibilities.

* * *

**20 December 2018**

I walked into a room of ghosts.

Not floating or swirling or doing whatever the hell ghosts are supposed to do. Just hanging there.

Wanda.

Sam.

Vision.

Bucky.

Nonchalant in the shadows of early morning.

Their stitched names yelled out. Conjured feelings and memories so close to breaking through my mental barriers.

I breathed in and it tasted of ash.

I closed my eyes and I saw them as they were.

Strong. Resilient. Good.

I opened them again and saw their white embroidered names on red cotton. Their home-sewn Christmas stockings, carefully attached to a shelf halfway up a bookcase, the only way they can be a part of the season.

I breathed out and it trembled. _I_ trembled. And shook.

And then I didn't. I reigned it in. Pulled myself together. And walked out.

* * *

**26 December 2018**

A belated merry Christmas to you, Tom.

We didn't know what to do. Celebrate it? Ignore it?

We knew that none of the people missing from our lives would want us to put anything on hold just for them.

But, the thing is Tom, Steve and I don't tend to give a shit what other people think or even what they want us to do.

We go our own way. Always have done.

His abundance of Christmas cheer disappeared. I'm glad. Not because it means no more singing but because I think it was hurting him more than helping. He was avoiding his pain and he used the holidays as an excuse.

I caught him staring at the Christmas stockings he put up and even though I couldn't see his eyes I knew there was a storm raging in them. It was the set of his shoulders. The straightness of his back.

He'd come from the gym, not stopping to shower. Sweat stained his clothes. A sign of interrupted sleep. Or, if I stop being optimistic, no sleep at all.

I was going to tell him Santa wouldn't be happy with him staying up all night, but my heart wasn't in it and the words got stuck in my throat.

Instead, I made breakfast. Tempted him away with the smell of bacon. He wolfed down sandwich after sandwich, but my stomach churned at the greasy sight and I just about managed one. He cleared the dishes away and brought me a glass of orange juice.

And that was how we knew we weren't going to get through the day without each other. Spending it with Tony and Pepper held a certain appeal. Others would be there; noisy, hectic, a good distraction. We'd paper over the growing cracks with food and games. And though we all knew each other well, it wasn't well enough.

But with Steve it was. He knew more about me than he needed to. More than I ever intended to share, and I liked to think I knew him best, too. On a day like today we knew what each other needed.

A generous push towards realism with a hint of distraction. Denial was good, but when you settled in it for too long it festered around you.

"I just thought if I acted like I was okay I would be okay, you know," Steve said as he donned his hat, scarf and gloves. We both had winter worthy shoes on and wrapped up tight in warm coats. Even so, the blast of cold air found the breaks in our armour and assaulted us as best it could. Though it wasn't wise in choosing who it battled; Russian ice flowed through my veins no matter how many years I spent away from my homeland, and Steve had spent more time under ice than he had above it.

"You can't force something like that," I said and my words clouded the air. Little flurries settled onto the untouched blanket of snow around us. We took a moment to breathe in the crisp air. Winter had taken the flowers and the grass and the leaves, it had taken the songbirds singing in the trees and the bees buzzing as they sought nectar, it had taken the bright and sweet smells. But it gave back with the peculiar cold that was the essence and scent of the season. It gave us snow and ice and a gratitude to be indoors with people instead of out and away from them. Colour was leeched away but what remained was a purity the world didn't often see. And with Stark's green technology it lasted longer in the grounds of the compound than it did anywhere else.

We stepped off the path and made our mark on the snow-filled horizon, crunching our footprints into the unmarked land. A carrier bag rustled as it bounced against my leg, sometimes it caught in the breeze and made its wish to be flying free well known. Not only was it clamped firmly in my hand but it was weighed down by the items within.

"I know. It's just-" Steve said and heaved a sigh. The puff of air was whisked away by a sudden gust, as was some of the snow clinging to his hat. "Here alright?"

"Should be," I replied. "'It's just' what?"

He didn't answer right away, instead he crouched down and started rolling up the snow. Actions made clumsy by the thick gloves. He hissed when some of it fell from his hands and melted through his trousers to bite his leg with its coldness. I crouched to join him, discarding the bag then piling some snow on top of it as an afterthought to keep a particularly vicious breeze from tempting it away. Together we made better progress.

"It's just, I'm no use between missions. I'm just here, watching other people do things," he said as he bent down to collect more snow. That meant he missed my look. It's exactly how I felt when Rocket and Nebula were attacked. "I want to help but I don't know how."

"Well that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I said and he looked hurt until I continued, "if there's one thing Steve Rogers knows it's how to help."

"That might have been the case before, but now I'm not so sure."

"I am. I bet you already know and that's not the problem."

We started on the second part and made sure to pack the snow tightly. I felt his hesitation but he wasn't one to walk away from the difficult questions.

"Then what is?"

"You're not sure you like the answer you found."

"And if that's true?" He said, intent on the task at hand.

"Take your time and think it through. You'll like it in the end."

He smiled but both of us decided to stay quiet as we added our second section to make one whole. There was a dicey moment when it looked like it was all about to crumble, or maybe the top was just going to roll off, but our American/Russian construction skills paid off.

"You make it sound so simple," he said and looked for the bag I'd brought with me.

"It's not, but it's also not as hard as you're making it."

We added the finishing touches and changed the subject; making jokes instead of heavy conversation. He went to the tree line to gather the last couple of things we needed and we stepped back to admire our handiwork.

It was rudimentary, even a little lopsided, but the snowman smiled back at us. While it was nowhere near as impressive as the ones created while they were with is, it wore Wanda's hat, Sam's gloves and Vision's scarf.

I think they'd be glad we made another addition to the team tradition.

I looped an arm around Steve's waist and he slipped one round mine, it gave me an excuse to rest my head against him as I tried not to break a little bit more.

"You don't have to go round singing songs and decorating the place to make yourself useful, Steve. You're useful without even trying. To everyone but yourself. Be kind to yourself, maybe. Give yourself a chance to heal before you try and move on."

"Everyone else is moving on, how come I'm holding back?"

"Steve, no one has. We're all coping, just about keeping it together. Don't start walking a road you're not ready to take. It'll just make things worse in the long run," I paused for a second, wondering where the hell I was picking those words up from. "Quick, say something deep and motivating. I'm not sure I like being the wise one."

"Come on, Nat, take a look at our ragtag band of friends. You've _always_ been the wise one."


	24. Chapter 24

**1 January 2019**

Happy New Year. I guess.

Not that anyone's happy.

It feels like a failure. A deadline reached but not met.

People who should see it, who should cheer and celebrate and usher in the next batch of 365 days, weren't. Life had left them behind.

They existed last year. Lived and breathed and hurt and cried and screamed and shouted and...

...and died.

No.

Don't say that, Natasha.

Don't think it.

And don't fucking write it again.

If I do then the door closes on them. It becomes a one way journey. But now, right now, there's still possibility. I have to remember that. I have to.

Giving up is not an option.

_This_ can't be how history goes.

We'll get them back.

However long it takes we'll get them back, because they're entitled to the futures taken from them.

I don't do New Year resolutions. They're bullshit to make people feel better about themselves. Rather than thinking about the time past and all the things they have yet to do, they look ahead and make up a single thing they will accomplish just so they can look back and say 'ahhh, progress'.

And yet, before the clock ticked over to midnight last night, I crept out to the lake. To the spot we held the memorial. I looked out at the black ice then above to the clouded sky. I felt the cold seep into me, urged it to fill the void I carried within. As the minutes ticked down to 2019 I ticked off the names of those I had a duty to remember, because memory was the only way to keep them alive until they were able to resume their lives.

Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nate.

Wanda and Sam and Vision and Bucky.

Then there was Scott, the spider-kid, T'challa, Shuri. Hell, even Strange, Gamora, Groot, Quill, Mantis and Drax.

Even Liho, my fucking cat.

How had we let this happen? How had we let them down so much?

I looked to the skies, again, then the trees, then back to the frozen water. And yeah, I made a resolution.

No more fucking around.

Feel bad chained to a desk? Get the fuck over it Natasha.

Want to go and beat up some bad guys? Save it for after everyone's back.

Because you know what? That's your goddamned priority.

Bring them the hell back.

* * *

**8 January 2019**

I went out to the Barton farm.

Guess I can change the name to Romanoff Ranch now.

I didn't want to go. So many things were piled in that empty house, ready to crash over me as soon as I stepped through the door. Memories and thoughts and experiences I'd managed to keep at bay so far. But, I knew there would be no holding them back anymore the moment I walked in.

Even out in the yard, as I contemplated approaching the lifeless house, I struggled against the strength of what I was feeling.

I could have let it whisk me away. Instead I took a step forward and felt sick. The nausea grew every time I moved closer. It was weighed down with dread. And that was an odd feeling because I have never not wanted to be in the house. Not even the first time Clint brought me.

I unlocked the door and swung it open. Dust swam out at me first, smelling a little musty. Then came everything else. The citrus hints from a now depleted air freshener, left to its own devices in the wake of the homeowners disappearing. There were other familiar smells, all things that make up the Barton experience. But they were overpowered by the dark scents of neglect, expected of a house long abandoned.

Instead of walking straight in I stood in the doorway. I looked into the living room and down the hallway and all I could think was that it's incomplete. Something's missing. The same old furniture sat where it always had. Photos adorned the walls and plants, once luscious, sat beyond rescue in their dry pots.

It's amazing how everything was the same but oh so different.

Even on the threshold memories pulled at me. The first time I stood there and tried to understand where I was. The _last_ time I stood there, looking for Clint and finding nothing but his broken ankle monitor.

I heard the same laughter that haunted me at Christmas. It used to rejuvenate me. Now it killed me. Against the many protests that bubbled to the front of my mind, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

And, as I waded through memories of some of the best times of my life, I searched. I didn't know if it was for squatters or for Clint himself.

It _was_ his birthday, after all. There was a chance he might turn up there.

The old Clint would.

The old Clint also wouldn't drop out of my life.

The reality was, I had no idea what this new Clint would do.

And that scared the shit out of me.

I crept into each room, thinking if I didn't disturb the memories they wouldn't fling themselves at me. But they did and the trail of footprints I left in the dust stuttered as I stopped and started. In the kitchen I could taste Laura's infamous cookies, hear her chatting away as I stared without emotion at my surroundings, and her gasps of delight when I showed her a cooking tip.

"I never expected you to be a whizz in the kitchen," she said.

"Need to be able to fit in anywhere," was my reply.

I finished looking downstairs and headed up.

Nothing.

There was one room I'd avoided. One room I knew I couldn't fight.

As I went back down the stairs I dodged the creaky step out of habit. As if I was never away.

The door to my room stood ajar. And all I could wonder was who went in there last? Who left the door like that? Laura, one of the kids, Clint? What were they doing? Something boring like cleaning the bedding, maybe. Laura never knew when I was going to arrive so she always made sure the bed was made up and fresh. Perhaps the kids were playing hide and seek. Or Clint, for some sentimental reason.

I placed a hand on the door frame to settle me before pushing the door open the rest of the way and I saw the family measurements. All their names recorded on the wood. And mine, on level with Laura's.

I didn't see the point in taking part at first. It was just another of those stupid things people did. But Lila wouldn't leave me alone. She pestered and pestered and normally I wouldn't give in but Clint took up the cause, talking about it during missions over the comms link. And he was where she got her persistent streak from.

I never told them how accepted I felt every time I saw my name there.

Like I was one of them.

Everything was as I left it. Almost.

A postcard lay on my bed. One from out of town. A trip they must have taken, minus Clint, since the last time I saw them. Whenever they head somewhere the kids get me one of those, but never know where to send it to, so leave it there for when I get back. Laura told me once it was because they didn't think it was fair that I always brought them something back from my travels but they never got me anything.

I turned it over and there were three different types of handwriting staring back at me. Cramped into the small space, fitting in as much as possible while remaining legible. Coop first, then Lila, then Nate. All of them ending it with a 'we miss you, come home soon'.

That's when my legs gave way and I sat on the bed, sinking into it in a cloud of dust. I didn't care because it came with the faint smell of the fabric softener Laura used. Familiar and comforting. It eased the pain, if only a little.

Clutching the postcard to my chest I curled up and drifted off to sleep.

It was the best I had for a long time.

Which was surprising.

It was still light outside when I woke. I checked my phone to make sure it was the same day. A couple of hours had passed, yet I felt rested in a way I hadn't since before the whole Accords thing.

Something had brought me out of my slumber. So I listened. The usual house noises. No sound of anyone in the hallway. I rolled off the bed and had my gun in my hands in a matter of seconds. I held it in front of me and crept down the hallway.

The strangeness almost disorientated me. It was always a safe space. Never did I think I would walk through it armed and ready to shoot.

And shoot I almost did when there was a snuffling at the back door.

I opened it and a stray dog looked back at me.

It smelled wet and looked starved. And then it ran away, limping as it went. Probably sensing there wasn't any food to be had.

I holstered the gun, closed the door and leant against the kitchen counter. It was something I'd done a thousand times before. Chatting to Laura or Clint, watching the kids. Sipping tea or coffee or whatever fruit juice they had available. Sometimes downing a shot or two of vodka, depending on the happenings of whatever mission I'd come back from. Never had I placed my hand there for my finger tips to come back covered in dust.

Laura would never let that happen.

She loved this room, more than any other room in the house.

I went on automatic as I opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out all the cleaning supplies. Organised them and then went off to strip down the beds.

And that was my day.

I scrubbed and washed and polished and had the washing machine on constant spin. I vacuumed and dusted and aired the house out. I worked so I didn't have to think but it didn't work like I wanted. Even though my body was busy my mind insisted on thinking.

I remembered Laura when we first met. She was unsure. Knew I was Clint's new partner but she was shaken by my youth. She was wary but not unkind. She took one look at me and ushered me into her home, gave me a warm drink and never pried. In that first hour of our acquaintance she lay the foundation of a strong friendship. It was up to me to take the steps.

I did. In the end.

I always helped out. No matter what state I was in. We'd cook together, clean, take the kids to school, pick them up. Sometimes I distracted them outside so she could rest. The only time I didn't do any of this was when Clint made me stay for my recovery after the Winter Soldier sent me over a cliff and shot me in Odessa.

And then I'm in the living room and Cooper and Lila are climbing over me or begging me for a story or asking for help with their Lego. Their smiles the brightest things I'd ever seen.

I put the vacuum on again; to drown them out.

But I still heard them stampeding up and down the stairs. Heard Clint and Laura playing with them. I felt the same sense of awe I did when I witnessed what a real family was supposed to be for the first time.

I see myself surrendering to the sofa with a book in my hands. Remember all the late night conversations with one or both of the adult Bartons, and the quiet revelations about my life I made in the safety of their walls.

I pass my room with the duster and an echo of the time I finally understood this wasn't some spare room I crashed in when I passed through; it was mine.

I carried spiders outside before I cleared away their webs. And my mind flicked through all the times I did it when the house was occupied. Cooper hid behind his hands, afraid the spiders would escape from mine.

And then I moved my cleaning frenzy upstairs and it was the almost nightmares of babysitting. The frustration of bath time and coaxing them into bed. The stories they demanded that had nothing to do with the books we'd picked out just five minutes earlier. The guilt of lying to them when they asked what I do and later watching them realise I'm something else entirely. The 'oh my god the red head jumping from Cap's shield in New York _was_ the same red head who teaches us Russian words' look of awe. And of horror. They came to understand the world was a dangerous place but, more than that, two people they knew stayed on the frontline to keep the danger at bay.

I let the memories flit by and I kept on cleaning. I stripped layer after layer of dust away. Made the beds again and considered going through all the closets and drawers to wash their clothes. I didn't dare stop moving because when I did the house around me was silent. It rang out and I did put the washing machine on again, just to banish it.

Then I went back to my room, hoping there was something I missed in there. But everything's cleaned, the most recent postcard was already in the tin. The fresh bedding put back, the floor vacuumed, all surfaces dusted, polishable things polished. There was nothing to do but sit. So I did, feeling the mattress shift beneath my weight, as it did when Cooper and Lila climbed on to curl up against me. Nate did too, much later.

I remembered sitting in this spot after the whole Capitol Hill incident. And again after I came back from the Motherland, not sure if I found any real answers or not. Either way, those graves and weeds I cleared would stay in my mind.

But between all of those memories, in the moments when I stopped thinking and doing, were my conversations with Clint. A bustle of words and meanings and personal growth. He was my guide, always.

The rest of the team thought of him as a joker but no one got just how sincere he was. How deeply he felt things. One of the most intuitive people I'd ever met. He always knew when something was eating at my mind before I did. He was patient and kind and found some of the humanity within me I thought was extracted a long time ago. He talked me through realisations that were simple to him but almost unfathomable to me; things he'd known as a kid but the Red Room never enlightened us to because weapons didn't need to know it was okay to make mistakes. Sure as shit didn't need to know free will was something we were entitled to.

He let me speak. He let me feel my way through to a conclusion. He never judged me for the things I did wrong and never let me judge myself for them either (at least not out loud, he had no say on what I thought). But more than that, and perhaps the most important of all, he was there and he listened.

And I just want to be that for him.

I want to be the person he was to me.

To bring him in from the cold. Tell him that whatever he's feeling is okay because he has a right to feel those things. If he wants to yell and scream at the world and call it shit then he _could_. Because it _is_. It had gone to shit even before Thanos. But that didn't give the purple megalomaniac the right to do what he did.

I wanted to tell him that whatever he'd done I'd forgive him, if it even needed forgiving. To tell him that it was okay for him to blame me if that's what he needed to cope. It was okay to hate me if it helped him through.

It's okay, Clint.

Really.

It's okay.

But he wasn't here to say any of that to.

I spent the whole day at the farm. Left late at night. I almost brought the tin box back with me but it belongs there in the house.

It's a haunted house, of that I'm certain.

But I'm not sure if yesterday it was haunted by memories or me.

* * *

**17 January 2019**

Hey Tom,

Some good news.

Amazing news, actually.

Pepper gave birth earlier today. Morgan Stark. A happy and healthy baby girl.

We all got a photo from Tony, the three of them together. Pepper looked exhausted but there was a bleary smile as she cradled Morgan and looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered. Tony had one arm wrapped around Pepper, his free hand was rested over hers on the baby girl.

He's never looked so complete.

A man who'd found the happiness he never thought he'd get.

Rhodey and Happy are godfathers.

She's not even a day old and Morgan Stark is already one lucky kid.

* * *

**22 January 2019**

Whenever there's something to celebrate, Tony and Pepper seem to be at the centre of it. Even if not all of us always attend.

Their wedding.

Thanksgiving.

Christmas.

And now baby Morgan.

Those two are a decent reminder of the things we still have in this world. It's so easy to just think about what we had.

I found myself once again sitting in my car in front of their house. Nothing about it looked different but behind those doors everything had changed. I stepped out of the car, climbed onto the stoop and listened for cooing or crying.

I heard nothing.

I raised a hand to knock but the door opened before I had a chance. Tony was there. A bright, if somewhat dazed, smile filled most of his face as he pulled me into a hug.

"She's amazing, Nat," he said and I'd never known him to be so relaxed, "I still can't believe she's here."

The slight click of the door as Tony shut it was the only sound as I walked towards the living room. Light fell through the windows, lightening the dark walls, and glinted off Pepper's hair. She was sprawled across the sofa, enjoying the hush settled over the house as she lay there with eyes half closed and a hand dangled in the bassinet beside her.

Tony settled on the arm of the sofa and stroked Pepper's hair, she started and noticed the extra person in the room with them.

"Nat, hi."

"Hey," I said. "Long night?"

Pepper lifted herself up and gave me the same bright smile Tony was wearing. There were bags under her eyes and things around the room were not their usual tidy self. But they didn't care.

"This one's inherited her father's insomnia," she said.

"What can I say, Pep. Strong genes." He leant down to brush his lips across her forehead and bustled away to the kitchen to make drinks. Rather than stand over the bassinet and risk startling the child awake, I took a seat on the other sofa and made small talk.

Things didn't sound much different from Clint and Laura. Middle of the night feeding adventures, and mysterious cries that seemed to have no solution. Tony was adapting to it better because of his years of habitual working through the night, and the one after that, oh and maybe the one after that, too.

"He's more than happy to look after everything that comes up at night, but once I'm awake I can't go back to sleep knowing she's hungry," Pepper said. And, as if on cue, Morgan started to get restless and was awake within moments.

"I can get her, if you don't mind?" I was up before Pepper could move and she nodded, looking for all the world like she needed to sleep for a month. I bent over the bassinet and found sharp eyes (sharper than they should be for a newborn) looking up at me. A Stark she definitely was.

She took in a deep breath to start crying but found herself lifted from the comfort of her bed. Her little arms and legs stretched out into the empty air around her and she forgot to start wailing. I held her close, the whiff of talc filled the gap between us, and her tiny fingers curled against my collarbone.

That was how I met Morgan Stark for the first time.

"Never thought the Black Widow would be good with kids," Tony said as he came back in with the drinks, "we'll have to get you to babysit. You know, so we can get some sleep."

"Can go and get some sleep now, if you want. Clint was my partner for years, if that doesn't count as experience then I don't know what does."

Tony laughed and Pepper smiled over her cup. The warm herbal mixture overpowered the talc smell that had surrounded me since holding Morgan. "Well, I think you'll be a good auntie Nat."

I froze mid-step and Morgan started at the sudden stillness. She stopped when I bounced her gently in my arms. One thing I learned with the Bartons is don't bore the baby.

I hadn't heard Pepper's last two words outside of my head for months. And then it had been from Nate as a waved goodbye before I jumped back onto the Quinjet. I looked down at the tiny human in my arms and imagined her in his place. Imagined her running at me whenever I turned up, only ever knowing me as auntie Nat.

And it was a little bit harder to breathe.

Because it was a bitter thought. And a sweet one.

A painful thought.

I would watch her grow up. Happy and wild and excited. And that would be amazing. Time would give me memories, similar to all those that haunted me at the farm. And in all of them she would call me a name that had always only ever been reserved for three others.

Replacing them?

God that thought hurt. Thinking about them only ever hurts.

I held Morgan a little closer, kissed her forehead, breathed in her ever soothing scent and wished with everything I had that she never had to face the type of pain the world was living through. That she never suffered the way everyone around her was suffering.

"Maybe just Nat," I said as I handed her over to Tony, who seemed to know where my thoughts went and sidled up to me. I worked to put my mask back on, but the damage was done. Pepper looked aghast and I wanted to tell her not to worry, that Morgan deserved a better aunt than me, but my phone went off. As I stepped out to take it, I felt them exchange looks and I wished I hadn't come.

I considered just grabbing the stuff from the car and making my excuses.

I answered the phone to hear the pushy tones of some sort of journalistic vulture who wanted a quote about the recent upswing in street violence. I managed to tell them to go fuck themselves in a long and complicated way that might take them a while to figure out. When I hung up Tony was at my side again, having swapped his offspring for my so far untouched drink.

"Pep's sorry-" He started but I held a hand up. Apologies weren't needed.

"I know, Tony. She doesn't need to worry. I just miss them, you know. It caught me off guard."

"Caught you off guard? That's got to be more unlikely than you being good with children."

I gave a polite smile and sipped at the tea. The air was thickening and the earthiness of our surroundings was more pronounced. Rain was on the horizon; I could already smell it. Tony eyed the sky, expecting it to start falling at any moment.

"I've got some stuff for you in the car. Nothing exciting, a few baby things."

"Funny you should say that," he brightened and looked more awake than I'd seen him so far, "I have something for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him but he only wiggled his before walking away. I followed him back through the house and smiled at Pepper as we passed by the living room. She cradled Morgan in her arms.

"Not even gonna give me a clue?" I said behind him. He wagged a finger, his only acknowledgement before we headed down to the basement. It was his dedicated workspace in the house; kitted out with some of his top tech. He could work anywhere in the house but I think he wanted to have somewhere to retreat to so he didn't risk waking Pepper, and now Morgan, when he had trouble sleeping.

As always, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Gadgets here and gadgets there. Automated machines that anticipated his every want and need, somehow programmed with their own personality. The current displays were running tests on his nanotech, though I was interrupted before I could quite figure out why.

"Over there," he said, and the previously wagging finger now pointed to an alcove hidden beside the stairs. I looked at a suit, but not one of his usual creations. Not one I was expecting. "Your current one is looking a bit battered."

I stared at him unable to answer and he looked a little sheepish.

"I may have gone exploring after your little adventure in November, just to see the state of things."

I stepped forward to inspect it, not knowing what to say to him. The Black Widow suit that stood before us didn't look all that different to all the others I'd worn, the cut was a little different, more grey was thrown into the colour scheme, and my symbol was a little more prominent on the belt, but knowing Tony the changes he'd made were less of the superficial and more of the practical.

I ran a hand up the arm and the material felt different, though I couldn't quite place how. I counted the bites and there were more. If I had to guess there were a few new tricks up my sleeve. There were more places to keep weapons, and that always made me happier.

"I've made it super impact resistant, so like if we ever get an evil version of Steve it goes some way to counteracting the super strength, but don't go flinging yourself off any buildings. It's smart material, too," he said, "so I've linked Friday up to it and she can keep an eye on your vitals. I know how you feel about having an iron suit, but I wouldn't feel right not being able to keep an eye on you somehow."

I don't like to be coddled. I was made to fight. Whether it was with my hands or any type of weapon didn't matter. I was a master of them all. But I thrived on feeling my feet on the ground, the whooshing of bullets as they sailed past, fist against flesh as I punched whoever attacked. That was how I did things and it would always be how I do things. I couldn't help but smile, though. He'd still found a way to improve upon my suit, and while others might balk at his words, claiming a lack of privacy, I knew it came from a good place.

"Tony, this is amazing. I can't believe you've done this."

"I'm sensing a but."

"But, I might not need it. I'm staying behind the desk from now on. I need to focus on bringing everyone back. Getting stabbed by some fuckwit in a human trafficking ring doesn't exactly help with that."

"Take it anyway," he said and did a good job of hiding the flash of doubt in his eyes, "you never know when all the Avengers will be needed and you don't want to be caught short."

"Tony-"

"No, seriously, take it. Think of it as a late Christmas present. Or a gift to butter you up."

I had difficulty finding the words to reply with until he said the last part.

"Butter me up for what, Stark?"

He fiddled with something on his workbench and refused to look at me until the wrench he was playing with slipped and clattered to the floor. With a sigh he dragged his dark eyes to look at mine and I saw apprehension flicker in their depths.

"We have a complicated history, you and I," he said and I snorted.

"No more so than everyone else in our group. Actually, aside from Thor I'd say my back story with you is less complicated than the ones I have with everyone else."

He looked at me with one of his trademark glares, as if trying to figure out if I was being honest or not. So I gave him my trademark smirk, comfortable in the knowledge that each word from my lips was truthful. Let's check it, shall we:

Clint: Sent to kill me. Decided not to. Knocked a god out of his head, and maybe some common sense into it. Have a history of fighting each other. And for the longest time we were BFFs. Current status of friendship: unknown.

Bruce: Recruited him right out of Indonesia using a child to trick him. His alter ego then proceeded to chase me through the confines of the helicarrier, getting a good hit in before Thor came to the rescue. For some reason the Hulk reacted to me and responded well to the lullaby when we tried it out. There might have been something between us but it disappeared when I pushed him into a gaping hole. Current status of friendship: intact.

Steve: The programme I was forced into trained me to hold my own against and kill people like him. Our first interactions came about because a Norse god came to Earth and threatened it, using my aforementioned BFF as a weapon. We partnered up when he joined Shield; uncovered Hydra and destroyed the agency I thought had put me on the straight and narrow. Fought Ultron together, raised the new Avengers together, sided against each other on the Accords, let him go at the airport and spent two years on the run with him. Current status of friendship: intact.

Thor: Threw a table at me once and his brother was a bit of a prick, but otherwise unproblematic. Current status of friendship: intact.

Tony: Infiltrated his company while he was dying. Provoked him into a display of terrible behaviour to see how bad things were. Sided with him on the Accords in an attempt to keep the team together before going on the run. Current status of friendship: intact, I think.

"Okay, right, yeah. So, I forgot normal isn't your speed," he said after scrutinising the smirk, "I guess I mean it's no secret we've had our differences, you know. We met, I was dying, you were lying and we sort of just went from there.

"And, well, turns out I really respect you. I mean, obviously you respect me too, that goes without saying. Who doesn't respect this?" He gestured to himself and winked. "No matter what's going on you find the bigger picture and always keep it as your focus. Even if the rest of us don't always listen. You find a way to stand for what you believe in and make the best of a shit situation. How can I not respect the hell out of that?"

He picked up another of his many tools and started playing with that, too, before remembering what happened with the wrench and putting it back down.

"You know, and in spite of, or maybe even because of, the life you used to have I think you have some of the strongest morals of any of us. No matter what I might have said or implied before."

"What's your point Tony?" In case you were wondering, Tom, I don't take compliments well. There's usually some sort of ulterior motive behind them. So when they're sincere I fend them off with a joke or make a hasty retreat. Neither of those options were forthcoming here.

"My point is, Nat, you're strong and intelligent and don't take any shit from anyone. Pep is all those things too, but she's not trained to kill men a thousand and one different ways. It's pretty obvious there's no such thing as having too many strong women in your life and that's what I want for Morgan. I want her to have a role model for every day of the week. I want her to become like the amazing women in my life. And she can do a lot worse than having an auntie Nat."

I knew Tony liked to ramble at times, but only when he was trying to distract people or piss them off. I've never known him to go off on a tangent when he knew what he wanted.

"Tony-"

"I want- no. We want you to be her godmother," he paused then added, "please."

With the request out the way he seemed more confident, fell into his relaxed state and watched me intently as I processed his words. Should I have expected this? Was I even that close to the Starks? Necessity had thrown us together over and over again. Or, maybe, there was no tearing us apart. No matter what happened we found the threads of friendship again. It's amazing how that keeps happening with our merry band of super heroes.

I couldn't accept though. I'd gone down that path with Clint and Laura. Promised them I'd protect their children. I failed. When it came to those three kids I failed at all the important things, in the end. I couldn't subject Morgan to that.

"I want to be involved in her life, Tony. But I can't be what you want me to be."

"So, I'll take that as a maybe."

"Tony-"

"Honestly," he held up his hands and went to pack up my new suit, "I heard that as a maybe."

* * *

**30 January 2019**

Hi Tom,

I never thought it would be easy saying goodbye to the year when I last saw my colleagues and friends, but I never expected it to be this difficult.

It feels like 2018 was one more link we had between us, but now that was gone and over and they're one step to being gone and over, too.

Someone else out there is struggling.

There was a massacre in a penthouse apartment in the city. One of the one's Fisk owned. Fifteen men slaughtered. Evidence suggested they were behind the increased drug trafficking in the area. Which might even have national links. Rhodey was on their trail.

But someone else was a few steps ahead. Or they just got lucky with who they killed.

Part of me wonders if the public announcement of the anniversary commemorations triggered the killer.

I know I vowed to stay behind my desk, but I had to go and see the scene. Plus, it's not like I was getting into any fights. Rhodey and Steve came along, too.

Some bodies were whole. Others weren't so lucky. Blood had seeped across the room, at times it was easy to forget the carpet was white.

The nature of the wounds suggested a sword was used. Nothing else was strong enough to bite through all that muscle and bone in the neck with a single swing. Except maybe an axe, but other wounds on the bodies made it clear it was something long.

Steve paled at the sight within the apartment, afterwards he said he felt sick the entire time. He'd fought in one of the bloodiest conflicts in history and he still couldn't get used to the gore that sometimes came with death.

Rhodey requested the security footage. There wasn't any. I asked if any other cameras pointed towards this building had anything to show. They hadn't recorded anything either.

It was too well planned. Almost professional.

All we could do was wait for forensics to come back. There was a chance the killer left something behind; maybe a hair, maybe a drop of blood. I was doubtful, so were the other two. If whoever it was knew enough to kill the camera feed, they knew enough not to leave any DNA evidence behind.

We spent a good few hours there, overseeing things, making sure no one fucked anything up. Think it pissed the cops off but we could sense this was important.

The scene is sticking with me. I feel like I'm missing something. That maybe I should know more about what happened. But I don't.

The killer would strike again, that was obvious. There were more of Fisk's men out there and the killer had just declared war on the organised crime industry, they weren't about to sink back into the shadows.

Rhodey and I asked Friday to flag any other crime scenes like this. She'll notify us immediately.

Whoever this was, they were dangerous.


	25. Chapter 25

At some point during Laura's reading of the journal, the weather turned. Rain pounded against the house and pinged against the windows. The droplets were hard and harsh and it was difficult to hear well over their roar. Laura closed the book with the begrudging agreement of everyone gathered around her. With nothing else to do she started dinner.

Clint noticed the odd look in her eyes and he thought it had to do with the same look clouding Cooper's and Lila's. Knowing Nat was in the house when they weren't. Knowing she cleaned and mourned and retreated when it was too much. It hadn't shocked Clint so much, he knew she had a habit of coming back on important days. He'd bumped into her a couple of times.

He got up from his seat and wondered through the house. His feet took him to Nat's door and, bracing himself as much as she had when she first returned home, he opened it and stepped over the threshold. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, if he was even looking for anything at all. In the end, he sat at the foot of her bed and looked at his hands.

Sometimes it flashed through his mind that they were the last thing she ever held.

He sighed and pushed that thought out of his head. But the space it occupied didn't stay empty for long. It was filled with her entry about the crime scene she went to visit. He had watched from the building opposite as the police secured the scene and placed the appropriate calls. He never realised the Avengers was one of them.

Nat, Steve and Rhodey hadn't been there when he turned his back on his handiwork and walked away; already thinking about where he was going to strike next.

The door opened a little wider and in came Nate, followed by an apprehensive Steve. The kid didn't even seem to notice his dad sitting on the bed as he made his way over to the closet.

"Open," Nate demanded, "please."

Steve smiled and did as he was asked. There were some clothes hanging up, casual stuff Nat liked to keep behind for whenever she stayed. But Nate wasn't interested in any of that. Instead he climbed into the space and searched for something else, making huffing noises when he got caught up in the fabric above him.

"Here," he said as metal scraped against wood, ushering it along with his hand as he crouched over it. Steve picked it up and something moved inside. Or, more accurately, several somethings.

"Do you want me to open it?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Nate said as he slid out of the closet on his bum and toddled over to Clint, who'd so far observed the whole thing without comment. Steve held the box gently, almost reverently, and pried the lid off the top. He held the tin out to Nate, and Clint saw the collection of postcards within. He smiled and looked down at his son, who was smiling too but looked a little lost.

"S'up, buddy?"

"Dunno," the boy shrugged and held his hands out for the tin, which Steve handed to him. Nate rested it on his father's knee as he looked through the contents. The two grown men exchanged a look. "Why did auntie Nat keep these?"

"Because she loved you."

"If she loved me she'd be here," Nate said and pouted, he sounded dangerously close to crying.

"She isn't here because she loved you," Clint said, keeping his voice soft and trying to pretend that Steve wasn't there. Nate just looked up to him and it was clear as anything in his eyes that he didn't understand.

Clint picked the tin box up from his knee and placed it on the bed, instead lifting Nate up and pulling him into a tight hug. "You'll understand one day, buddy."

Nate amused his father for no more than five seconds then squirmed in his grasp. As soon as he had the tin in his hand he ran out the door without a single look back. Clint sighed.

"Kids are resilient," Steve said.

"Sometimes I think a little too resilient. I want him to remember her on his own, not through the stories we'll tell," he paused and inspected his fingernails before standing, "but that's not going to happen, is it."

Steve shook his head and looked at the spot where the postcards had been. He looked haggard, as if it didn't matter that they won, the weight of the world would always rest on his shoulders.

"I saw you in here the other night," Clint said, "I heard someone in here. Thought I'd check, we don't come in here."

"Sorry," the soldier said, flicking his eyes to the floor at the thought of offending those offering him hospitality.

"No need to be sorry, just wondering if there's anything I can do to help."

"Not really," Steve shook his head, "can't sleep, keep having nightmares. She was always the one to help me with them and, well - I thought coming in here might help instead."

"Did it?"

"No. I always hated that people are boiled down to the possessions they leave behind when they die. She has almost nothing personal."

"And yet, if you'd asked her ten years ago, more than she ever thought she would have."

"Clint, dinner's almost ready, can you find Lila please," Laura called from the kitchen. Clint wasn't sure why but he felt there was more of this conversation to be had.

"Will do in a sec," he answered and turned to Steve before he left. "Thanks, by the way, Cap. For making her celebrate her birthday and helping her through the New Year."

"I didn't do much."

"Nah, you did more than you think you did."

The two men filed out of the room, the door clicked behind Steve who went to the kitchen to see if there was anything he could do to help.

The stairs were silent as Clint stepped up them, and he realised that he was also in the absentminded habit of dodging the creaky one. With a small smile he added it to his mental list of things to do around the house.

Lila's room was neat she enjoyed pastel colours rather than anything bold and Clint always felt out of place when he walked into it. Maybe it was because of his general scruffiness or the fact that he knew he wasn't a welcome guest in his daughter's room. Why he even came to check anyway he wasn't sure. If she was there she would have heard Laura calling out to him and stampeded down the stairs so they didn't have to be in a room alone together.

He took a moment to really look at the room around him. He'd sort of assumed nothing had changed and never really had a chance to see if he was right or not. Right then, he was appreciating how much she'd grown since she came back. Or maybe it had happened before the Snap. The teddies were gone, packed into the bottom of her wardrobe. A poster of a band used to take pride of place on her wall but that had come down, too. Instead there was a heavily pinned travel map.

Odd. She definitely hadn't been to that many places.

Clint stepped closer to see if he could unravel the mystery, and found a lump in his throat as the answer became all too clear. They weren't the places Lila had been, they were the places Nat had visited. His eyes watered and he made a hasty retreat from the room.

That's what he got for snooping, he supposed.

The landing was as good a place as any to stand and think about his next move. He's hunted down gang leaders that didn't want to be found, he could find his daughter in her own home.

During the better weather Liho had wandered from Lila's lap and out of sight. Probably to cause some sort of mischief, Clint reasoned to himself. He listened to the pitter patter, almost melodic, on the roof overhead. It was not cat friendly weather. Maybe the stupid thing had stranded itself in the barn. If the cat wasn't in the house Lila would definitely go searching.

At the bottom of the stairs he grabbed his coat, and Lila's just in case.

"Found her?" Laura asked as he passed her and Nick in the kitchen on the way to the back door. He paused for a second and heard Wanda and Steve, the other end of the room, talking about the snowmen she missed out on.

"If I had would I be about to brave the downpour outside?"

"Probably not, but I bet you're checking the barn before you've even looked through the rest of the house." She didn't bother to look up from where she was chopping carrots.

"It's called following a hunch, hun. It's how I made a living," he said and poked his tongue out at her before fleeing through the door.

"It's a miracle Romanoff always managed to bring you home alive," Nick shouted at him through it. At least, that's what he thought he said, there was a lot of rainfall to contend with. He held Lila's waterproof above his head and slipped, slid and squelched his way across the yard. The visibility outside was horrendous but he saw the door caught up in the eddies of the wind that swooped past.

"Lila," he called as he stepped into the building, he saw the little light on at his workbench, throwing his daughter into silhouette. It was a testament to the power of the weather that he hadn't noticed it outside, "mum wants you, dinner's ready."

She didn't move as he called, though he knew she'd heard him. He stepped carefully through the darkness until he was beside her. "Hey Hawkeye, did you hear me?" He noticed the music box was in her hands and he was half convinced she was going to throw it at him, he braced himself for an impact that never came. Guess not all his hunches came about.

"Hawkeye?"

"Why d'you call me that? It's your name." Clint almost checked himself for Pym particles and Tony's miracle suit. She was talking to him and it wasn't spiteful or scathing. She sounded like she did before she disappeared. Like a kid who loved her dad and hoped he could answer her questions.

"Just something I do. Why? Want me to stop that, too?"

Lila shook her head, as if she hadn't really heard him. "What did you want?"

"Dinner. Ready. Mum. Wants. You."

Her fingers traced the box and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Would it be going too far to ask Wanda to do a little recon for him? He remembered Loki and what that was like, then he remembered the team after their little run in with Wanda in South Africa. Nope, recon was off the table. He'd just have to figure it out the old fashioned way.

But, Lila spoke again before he could get started.

"Weird isn't it. That she was here when we weren't?"

"Mum?"

"No, auntie Nat," she said and there was a hint of a smile at Clint's feigned stupidity. "On your birthday. Where were you, dad?"

Even though he knew the time had come to tell the kids about his actions, his heart decided to pick up the pace. "Somewhere else."

They stayed silent for a moment or two, neither knowing where to tread next. Clint knew his path depended on where Lila decided to go. He just wanted to hug her; he could feel the hurt radiating off of her. He wanted to tell her it would be alright but it was a promise he couldn't make.

"Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Yes"

"Really? When?"

"Soon."

"I won't hold my breath."

"I promise, kiddo."

She looked at him, trying to see if he was lying or not. In the end she liked what she saw and gave him a small smile. A rarity these days.

"What was it like? Hearing her say those things to you?"

_It's okay, Clint. Really. It's okay._

_It's okay._

"Heartbreaking. I wish I made other choices. I wish I was by her side and helping her figure this thing out."

In the recent past Lila had used moments like that to sink the knife in deeper, even twist it a little. But, as the weather whipped up outside, it seemed her anger was abating. At least enough for her to see that she didn't need to punish someone who was punishing himself.

"Thanks dad," she said, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm?"

"The music box, thanks for fixing it."

"No problem, kiddo."

"You know, I think that's worse."

"Beggars can't be choosers. Kiddo." They left the barn together. Clint sheltered Liho in his coat and Lila wrapped herself up in hers as best she could, clutching the music box to her chest. When they got to the back door Clint placed his hand on the handle and paused, looking at a very bedraggled version of his daughter. "Get an early night tonight, yeah? Family has an early start tomorrow."

"More of your enforced family time?" She asked and a little bit of her bite came back. Damn, he was doing so well.

"Sort of. Yeah. But something for all of us, I think."


	26. Chapter 26

Some of yesterday's weather still lingered in the damp ground and the freewheeling wind; but the majority of it was gone. The world felt like a fresher place, as if the storm had come to clear out rubbish none had known was there.

"Keep an eye out for tornadoes," Clint said to Nate as they and the rest of the family made for the trees, speaking louder to stop the wind from snatching his words away without being heard. The boy was sat atop his shoulders, enjoying his view of the world and the feel of it rushing past him. No one except Clint knew what they were doing or where they were going. "Last thing we need is to end up in Oz."

Nate giggled. He didn't quite have a grasp on the film yet, but he loved the black and white to colour, the Yellow Brick Road and the Emerald City. Most of all, he was fascinated by the idea of travelling to other worlds. Even more so since, in his eavesdropping, he'd realised his dad had done something similar.

"I dunno," Coop said, unaware of how his voice travelled in such windy conditions, "I'd like to wake up from this dream."

Laura looked over at her eldest and Clint saw the uncertainty flicker in her eyes. It was harder and harder for her to find the right thing to say, nowadays. Clint wondered if it was because of the unmarked territory they were traversing or because of his blind insistence on silence without realising. Coop, once so laid back and easy going, once so cheerful and ready with a smile, was none of those things anymore.

"Off you get now buddy," Clint said and lifted his youngest from his shoulders and plopped him on the ground, "don't want you bashing your head on any branches." Together, the five of them stepped into the tree line; stumbled over the uneven ground, stubbed shoes against hidden rocks, crunched fallen twigs and slipped on slick leaves. The smell of nature overwhelmed them, the earthiness of the drenched ground and damp trees. It buoyed Clint in a way only nature could and he drew ahead of the others. At some point they became aware of where he was leading them and their feet carried them without question. Unsurprised when they emerged into the clearing Natasha so loved and where Fury had given Clint a much needed pep talk.

They laid blankets over the grass, thin protection against the dampness. Laura sat first and the kids followed suit, once they were settled they looked at Clint expectantly. He found himself frozen, unsure whether he should stand, and therefore be further away from their accusing glares, or sit with them, so he was on the same level as them while they all spoke. Then he realised what was about to happen and while he woke up this morning knowing, it didn't change the fact that the moment was on him now.

In the end he didn't have much of a choice. His knees threatened to give way so he sat with them. Once he himself was settled he looked each of them in the eye, even Nate who was unnaturally still for one so young.

It was an odd feeling. Whenever he was against foes he had no right beating, he thought of his family and they gave him a strength he didn't know he was capable of. They got him through some of his toughest missions. He used everything he had and everything he knew to make it back to them. And when he thought for sure death was finally raining down on him in a hail of bullets, his thoughts were of them. All of them. Even Nate, so close to being born. But the bullets never hit.

At least, not him.

He looked up at the sky to gather his thoughts. It was grey but he fancied he could see a hint of blue beyond the veil of clouds.

A breeze blew in from somewhere and swept across his face, he didn't know if it intended comfort but that's what he took from it.

"I thought," he said and looked back at them, "it might be good to come out here and talk. Or, make a start, I guess. There's a lot to talk about and..." He trailed off, words deserting him when he needed them most. There wasn't even the familiar lump in his throat to squeeze them past. He thought back to Tokyo, on the Quinjet after Nat had picked him up and explained their plan to him.

"What do I even say to them when they're back?" He'd whispered.

"Anything you want," she'd said, "you'll have all the time in the world. Just make sure you _say_ something."

He came back to the present and wondered if she had known how much he would struggle to come to terms with the past five years.

"I'm sorry," he said because they were the first two words to come back to his mind and they felt the most appropriate, "for how I've been since you came back. For not talking and, somewhere along the line, for making you guys feel like it wasn't okay to talk."

Lila opened her mouth to say something but she gave an unconvincing cough instead. Coop glared at her but he didn't look far off wanting to say something himself.

"A lot happened, you know. And I didn't want to speak about any of it because it's not stuff you guys should ever hear. But you need to, because it happened."

There was some confusion flowing between Cooper and Lila; they'd come here with no clue of what was going to happen and what they'd heard so far hadn't made anything clearer. Clint knew they sensed something was looming, how could they not? Just, it was tougher opening up to them than it was with Laura. To Laura he was still human, not beyond reproach, capable of mistakes; a lot more than her as it turned out. But to them, he was supposed to be above all of that. Beyond the limitations of being a mere human. He was their dad and he should do everything he could to protect them. And he'd failed, when they weren't even around.

But, he reasoned to himself, they'd already seen his fallibility since coming back. The flame was already stoked, adding more fuel to it was unavoidable.

"I want this to be about you guys," he said, Laura reached a hand out and somehow managed to channel all of her support into the touch as she placed it on his arm. "But there are some things you gotta know first. If we're gonna talk as a family, then everything needs to be on the table. I should have told you right away."

Another gust built up, cutting through the damp earth and rotting vegetation, and splashed floral aromas at his nose. A moment of sweetness in a snapshot of time that was anything but. With it he remembered how empty the world had been before. Not just of people but of nature itself; plant life dispersed on the air as easily as the lives of animals. Taken for granted until days went by without their natural colour in the man-made world around them, and their pure and refreshing smells in poisoned air. He took a deep breath. He told himself it was to savour more of what had been missing. In reality it was to steady his nerves.

"The last entry we read in auntie Nat's journal. The crime scene. That was me." He strained his ears to pick up on their reactions, having taken the coward's way out and decided to speak directly to his hands. "And there are more. Lots more." Clint kept his words short, his sentences clipped. He didn't want to use them as a confessional. He said more, gave them an outline but no detail. He felt the words tumble from his mouth and wash away on the wind that refused to die. Whenever he faltered Laura gave his arm a squeeze and it was enough for him to carry on.

When he did stop, when there was nothing left to tell, he still didn't look at his children. Shame burned his throat and his cheeks and his eyes. All he could think was how it must burn through them too.

"You're an idiot," Coop said and his voice was so tight Clint couldn't help but look up at him. His eyes were shining and he swallowed thickly as he searched for something else to say. But it didn't matter. His sister had his back.

"We disappear and you kill a bunch of strangers," she said, "in what world does that make sense?"

"This one," Clint said and tapped the side of his head. There was a strangled noise and he realised Coop had laughed.

"Idiot," he said again, "how can you not see you would have been better off with the others? You were there, you saw them at the memorial by the lake and you still walked away. Jesus, no wonder you haven't been here."

"I don't understand." Clint's brow crinkled.

"Of course you don't you haven't understood anything since we came back. Haven't even wanted to try. Because we might be back, we might be here, but you never returned. I figured something bad had happened but I didn't for one moment think it was your own decision," Coop paused to gather a breath and then slammed a fist into his own knee, not knowing how else to release the emotions swirling within him. "Do you even know why you didn't want to talk? Do you even know what you're most ashamed of, killing all those people or turning your back on those you had left?"

"I-"

"Do you even know how hard it's been? We came back and we didn't even know we'd gone," now he'd started he seemed unable to stop, everything he felt took control and he jumped to his feet, pacing the clearing. If his voice cracked no one said anything. "One second it's afternoon and mum's serving up lunch, you guys are enjoying your own little archery club and," he pointed to Nate, "we're playing catch and the next - the next- I don't know. _Nothing_ is happening. We're just standing there and it's darker and it's colder and _you're_ the one who's missing. And when you did turn up it was with that crappy hair and those stupid tattoos. There but not. A familiar stranger."

While he paced his voice had grown in volume. Nearby birds had taken flight, deciding if they weren't the cause of his anger they damn well weren't going to take the brunt of it. Even the wind left him to it; bowing to his roar. Lila watched him, pain etched deep into her eyes and she gave fierce nods with every point he made. And while Laura still offered her support Clint knew if he were to look at her he'd see that she too understood and agreed with everything their eldest said. Nate had climbed into her lap, unsure of what was happening.

But that was fine.

This was why they were here after all.

To talk. Even if that meant shouting.

"And finding out five years had passed. Jesus, dad, five years disappeared in the blink of an eye and we're all left wondering if we still fit into this world that moved on without us. All these things we've taken for granted and now they're so hard, as if it's our fault we disappeared in the first place. And the one thing we could have used was guidance from someone who'd lived through it all but when he stepped off the Quinjet he was just a shadow. That's all you were. You asked us _once_ if we were okay and that was it. You spoke only to tell us auntie Nat was dead and then you closed yourself off."

He clutched his chest as his words ran out and tears leaked from his eyes as they hadn't since he was little. When he sobbed he fell to his knees and Lila scooted over to him and enveloped her older brother in her arms.

"The world is different," Lila said, "and not just because she isn't with us anymore. We can see it everywhere, feel it in the news and whenever we walk through town. Even in school. Everyone is afraid, dad. Afraid because there's power out there that can wipe away half the universe without warning. Afraid because you never know when you're about to turn into a pile of ash. And instead of holding out hope, or living in the world so you could tell us how to integrate back into it, you were out killing people. Deciding who gets to live and die. Just like the guy who took us away from you."

"Lila," Laura said, a warning wrapped up in one word.

"Sorry mum, but it's true. He left us in the dark, about everything. Whatever we know it hasn't come from him. It's the news, friends, the journals. He's even left us in the dark about auntie Nat. We don't know how or why. We just know that we're only back because of her, and that seems to be more than the world in general knows."

Lila leant her forehead against the top of her brother's head and tried to carry on speaking, though it was obvious it was becoming more difficult.

"It hurts dad. All of it hurts. Everything Cooper said, knowing auntie Nat is gone but also knowing how hard those five years were for you. Watching as you refused to speak even though you've always been so open. And now, right now, realising you didn't have respect for us to tell us about this sooner. That you preferred to have us walking on eggshells around you rather than wading through the truth of it."

And she broke too, clinging to Cooper. In synchronisation, Clint and Laura, with Nate scooped up in her arms, sat next to their other children. Arms wrapped around shoulders and legs and necks. Fingers dug into arms and sides and brushed away tears with as much gentleness as they could muster. Heads gathered together as each member of the Barton family sought comfort in the other.

And, as they walked back to the house an hour later, it was clear they had left something behind amongst the trees. Or, perhaps, unlocked that long-trapped something and set it free. A lightness breezed through them as they walked with each other. Clint had a feeling deep down that they had taken the right steps and, if he continued to play things right, this terrible event which could have torn them apart would bring them closer as never before.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, hope you're safe and well.**

**Sorry for two short chapters in a row, there was originally going to be more journal entries in this one but when I finished it felt like this section needed to be posted by itself.**

**Also, I posted chapter twenty five at the end of a late night/early morning writing session last week and totally forgot to get over-excited by hitting 100 follows! I just want to say another huge thank you to everyone who's favourited, followed, commented and read this story. For something I started doing to get rid of writers block I never imagined this kind of response from all of you, and it's completely blown me away :)**

**Thank you for sticking with it guys, you have no idea how much I appreciate it!**


	27. Chapter 27

**6 February 2019**

Hi Tom,

I'm not sure if I like winter.

It's magical for all of two seconds when the snow is fresh and pristine. But then it's a blackened sludge, poisoned with grime and grit. After that all you're left with are dark days and darker nights. A creeping cold that always finds a way past the heating.

And when it starts to fade it does so in a shower of constant rain. The sun is a stranger, a long-lost friend. A memory of idealised times

But then, when summer comes around that's exactly what it is. Idealised. We forget about the humidity. The unbearable searing heat, the cloying sunscreen and that burn if you ever dare miss a spot.

At least you can see the sky, though. It's not hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds. Whenever I look up it's grey and I just want to see blue.

First world problems, I know. But there are some things, when life isn't so easy, that you come to appreciate. That get you through the difficult times.

Though, despite all my complaining, I do have to admit the weather is milder now. Less rain, less of a freeze. More chance of going outside. And I take that opportunity. Unless otherwise engaged I take my lunch to the dock and feast more on the sound of the wind blowing its way across the water, the freshness of the once winter-stripped air, which now carried little hints of the spring just around the corner.

Today I loaded myself up with soup and bread. I tucked a book in the bag with them, along with my intention of cracking it open, every attempt so far had failed. I laid each of them on the bench beside me and watched the world as it conducted its complicated dance.

The soup languished in the flask.

The book tried to flip open in the wind, until I weighed it down with the bread.

Clunking footsteps added an unexpected timbre to the performance going on all around.

"I don't know what they taught you in that Russian school of yours, but lunch usually means you eat something."

My lips twisted into a small smile as I looked round to see Rhodey approaching. I stood to give him a quick hug and shuffled my things over so he could sit.

"Hanging out with the unpopular kids today, are you." I said. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

"Haven't seen you guys in a while, thought I'd pop in."

"Out of luck, I'm afraid. Just me today. Steve's in Florida seeing if he can salvage anything of that drug case you guys were tracking until all your leads were murdered. And Bruce is somewhere researching something."

"Good thing I enjoy your company then, isn't it." He eyed the food sitting between us. "Mind if I have some? Been up since five and missed breakfast."

"Help yourself."

He was silent as he poured himself some of the thick liquid into the flask cap, the smell of herbs and tomato wafted out on the steam and swirled between us. He swiped a slice of bread from the bag it was wrapped in. He sipped and closed his eyes as the food made its way down.

"That's good. My stomach can shut up now." He dabbed his bread into the warm liquid and enjoyed that too. "You eating, Nat?"

"I'm not starving myself if that's what you mean."

"Sort of looks like it." He didn't flinch away as my eyes met his. They were steady and calm and it would have been unnerving if I wasn't so used to that being Steve's default setting. "Listen, you're no help to anyone if you're half starved, Nat. Your body and mind need the fuel. Things like that little knife wound from a couple of months back are less likely to happen if you're firing on all cylinders. So, I've left half of it. Just eat it, and the bread, and I'll leave you alone."

"Who sent you? Steve or Tony?"

"I sent myself."

I picked the flask up from the bench and tipped it to my mouth. The soup was still hot, but I didn't dare let Rhodey know that took me by surprise. He didn't say anything to me while I ate. Just let me make my way through the food as he ate his. It was only when he finished that he started speaking again.

"Look, I've been through it. Not wanting to eat. I've seen some shit in my time and it messes you about. But I found eating something that reminded me of happier times helps. I ended up spending more time thinking about the happy memories that came with the food rather than the reason I wasn't eating in the first place."

He looked off into the distance as I chewed on the final piece of bread. Food wasn't something I associated with emotion, it was about survival. He looked back at me and smiled.

"Just think about it. It'll come."

"What's yours?"

"Scrambled egg. It's simple but delicious and reminds me of ma."

I screwed the cap back on the flask, my stomach thanking me for what I'd given it, but neither of us made a move to go. The clouds hanging overhead reflected in the lake, adding an ugly hue to the water. I watched the sky, he watched the water. I don't know what he found there, hell I don't know what I found in the clouds, but it was enough to stem the flow of words and sustain the quiet for minutes at a time.

Then he sighed. It was as troubled as his eyes and for all his talk about making sure I ate, I knew there was something eating at him. He felt my gaze and looked at me, a little sheepish at being caught.

"Thanos went through all that trouble to bring balance to the universe," he said, "but why does it feel like the world is worse than it was before? I thought balance was supposed to be about order, not chaos."

"With questions like that you might learn more at Kamar-Taj," I said with a twist of my lips.

"You mean where I can learn to wave my hands around like a madman? No thanks, give me my suit. But seriously, it's a shit storm out there. I see no balance."

"Panic does stupid things to people."

"Looks to me like people do stupid things to people."

"We can't fix everything, you know."

He sighed again just as the wind whipped up and brought with it a spray of lake water. It joined the other damp patches still drying from yesterday.

"I guess you're right," he said, "how's the leadership life treating you, Director?"

"Oh don't you start." I resisted the urge to swat him on the arm. "Tony won't change it."

"Couldn't you, like, hack the system and change it yourself."

"Maybe, but it'll take a while and I'm trying this new thing where I don't break people's trust."

"Good luck with that."

"Are you sleeping?" I asked, mostly because he looked exhausted and partially as payback for the coddling earlier, he shot me a look that said he knew what I was doing.

"When I get time, it's constant. I just wanted to serve my country, I never wanted to get involved in the politics of it but it's difficult when they keep trying to use me as a puppet."

Ironic, really. This country would be lucky to have him in any of the top jobs. He was level-headed and impossible to buy. His traditional smarts were matched by his emotional intelligence, which gave him an immediate understanding of the situations he faced. But those who already occupied the top jobs were too blinkered by who had come before to think about who would come next. To them Rhodey didn't fit that picture so they pigeon-holed him into the role of War Machine. Maybe, in the end, that would be a blessing. People not caught in the red tape trappings of politics are often the ones to make a difference. They're not limited on what they can say or do, censored by lobbyists and polling data.

"Sorry it's fallen on your shoulders, playing that role. You're the best person for the job, though. No one knows how to keep the peace like you. If you want, I'll book you out for a two-week Avengers-related mission and you can just use the time to catch up on sleep."

Rhodey laughed and, for a moment, didn't look quite so tired. "Gotta watch each other's six, right?"

Our phones buzzed and dread pooled into my stomach just as it spread across his face. An alert from Friday flashed on my screen. When I clicked on it she started playing the dispatch the police received. Another mass killing, also believed to be gang members.

"Guess there's no rest for the wicked, huh," Rhodey said as the recording finished.

"I'll go. You get some sleep."

The scene wasn't that much different from before. Blood everywhere. Bodies everywhere else. Drugs and money also decorated the apartment. I couldn't lose much sleep over bad guys being wiped out, but it was the why of it. That's what kept me thinking into the early hours.

* * *

**16 February 2019**

Bruce is a little hard to keep track of lately. Most of the time I think he's in his lab working on his plans for transforming.

To be honest, with the state of his office, he could be in there and I wouldn't know. I don't think the New Year has really hit him. Actually, I'm not a hundred percent sure he knows another year has started. Since his announcement before the wedding he's thrown himself into his work and we only see him when he comes up for air or if we force him out for dinner. The last real exchange I remember having with him was when he took a look at me after I was stabbed.

Steve was concerned too. It's not rare for Bruce to lose himself in his work, but he doesn't literally lose himself. There was a day we searched the entire compound just to make sure we weren't going crazy.

He wasn't there.

Yesterday, he decided to give us answers. I like to think he came to the realisation on his own and wasn't pushed there by the several threatening voicemails we left on his phone.

But, Bruce being Bruce (by which I mean he's spent too much time with Tony) went the cryptic route. We drove out on a little daytrip. The scientist took the wheel, refusing to tell either of us our destination. I grabbed the backseat, putting my feet up as I worked from my tablet.

"And here we are," he said half an hour later as we pulled up in front of a building far enough on the outskirts of the city so as not to be hemmed in by others. There was some ground space too.

"And where is here?" Steve said, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

"My Hulk house," Bruce said, playing with the keys in his hands. I shot him a questioning look and he ducked his head. "Err, so Tony bought it. For me. You know, joint birthday and Christmas present. He even put a giant bow on the roof."

"A bow?" I said.

"I've told you someone just bought me a building and you take issue with the bow?"

"Just an unexpected touch," I shrugged, "but I can fully believe Tony buying you a building."

I'm not exactly destitute. A career like mine earns you a lot of money, when you invest it with consideration that earns you a hell of a lot more, but to be at the point where you could buy people a building and get a giant bow custom made to go with it. No wonder Tony went through some wild days in his youth.

"Kind of embarrassed with what I got you now," Steve said as we followed Bruce to the front door. There was a lot of room and a lot of work to do. Plenty of opportunity for Bruce to impress his own personality on the building. I noted the ceilings had extra height and the doors had extra width. The windows were big and had a good view of the grounds that came with it.

"Any idea what you're going to do with the outside space?" I asked.

"Let me figure out what I'm gonna do with the inside first," Bruce said with a laugh. Some of the walls were plastered and painted over, others were exposed brick. There was a sense of the unfinished about it. I wouldn't have put it past Tony to have found it in its final stages of completion and telling the decorators to clear out so he could get his own, trusted, team in once he knew what Bruce wanted.

There were two floors plus a basement; the latter already earmarked for conversion into a lab. Would be a pretty big lab, almost the same size as his one at the compound. The top most floor was complete with a balcony, accessed from what would likely become the master bedroom.

It was empty and echoed like a habitable building had no right to echo, but Steve and I both watched him as he showed us around. And yes, he still tugged at his hands or shoved them deep into his pockets, and yes he did shuffle from one spot to another, but it was more excitement than nerves. Anticipation rather than a damaged confidence. His eyes darted around but there was a slight lift to his lips. This was a prospect he looked forward to, and I could imagine him living here. Kicking his feet up and flicking through Netflix, or settling into an armchair with a book. A hulk-friendly book, not one that would tear apart as he tried to turn the page.

"What do you guys think?" He asked as we stepped off the stairs back onto ground level. Weak sunlight filtered through the windows, doing its best impression of a summer's day.

"I think," Steve said as he took one last look around, "Christmas is at yours this year. It's great Bruce. And you look good in it."

"I dunno about that."

"He's right," I said, "you already look at home."

* * *

**1 March 2019**

Hey Tom,

I learned a new term today.

Ravager.

Not sure what it means, but Rocket and Nebula saved one of their ships from being blown apart by some thugs.

They answered a distress signal and it's taken them a little off course but that's fine. The main reason for being out there is to help those who need help and keep things peaceful, if they can.

It was one of many conversations I had during, what I've decided to christen, Callday.

Rhodey was one of them, updating me on all the leads he'd followed into dead ends on our new mystery killer case. Tony was trying to see if we had enough data for him to build an algorithm that could predict where our killer might pop up next. Not only did that sound a bit _Minority Report_ to me, but also too much like Project Insight. He came to that conclusion too and shut it down.

Just because you _could_ do something doesn't mean you _should_.

Pepper then took her turn. Morgan joined her on it, she proved to be the biggest distraction we've ever had and it took far longer than it should have for her mother to tell me to take a look at the photos sent over for the Christmas competition so we could decide the winners.

I told her she should still be taking some time off, and for that I got an uncharacteristic huff of annoyance that gave away I wasn't the first to say it. She made Morgan wave goodbye and signed off.

I was just scrolling through the far too many photos when Friday patched Okoye through.

The tinge of hologram that flickered around her took nothing away from the stature with which she stood. If someone who didn't know her looked at her, they would know she was a leader. It was there in the way she carried herself; as she stood, as she walked. It was laced throughout the way she spoke, softly spoken when needed, harsh and ringing when called for. Authority made a home for itself in her voice.

Everything about her said 'don't mess with me', and no one did. If my background had been less intense I'd probably be intimidated by her.

"I was going to keep this quick, I thought you might be busy. But..." She arched an eyebrow at the photos I was looking at on my tablet and pierced me with a look even I had trouble scrutinising.

"Stupid competition we held over Christmas," I said and locked my screen.

"Ah, yes. There should be an entry in there from Wakanda."

"How did your guys decorate it?"

"With style," she said with a twist of her lips and I laughed.

"Wakanda won't win," I said, "seems silly if we're all there in a couple of months and we don't pay a visit. And it wouldn't be fair if we went twice. I'll add it to the agenda before I regret it."

Her smile was warm and she waited for me to finish instructing Friday to make the amend.

"They will be excited. The children here idolise those T'challa chose to fight alongside."

"We came to your country, tore up the land, and watched half the people disappear. Not much to idolise."

"You took a stand against impossible odds. It is not always victory that makes a hero."

I looked down at my tablet and thought about all the research I had in a secure file. Time Stone this and Time Stone that. Five other sub folders, almost empty except for the basics. Waiting for further research to fill them up. The reason for my sleepless nights and the anniversary yet to come.

"Victory would have been nice, though," I allowed myself to say. I don't know if she heard, she didn't say anything for a few seconds and when she did speak it was straight down to business.

"Most of the dignitaries will be arriving the morning of the anniversary."

"These would be the very same people I betrayed when I let Steve go in Germany."

"Yes."

"How early would you like me to arrive?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"It's not my first time."

"A couple of days, if you can manage it. You'll have a room set up here so you can carry on with your work."

"Not a problem. Steve?"

"If he could arrive with you that would make things simpler. Who else is attending?"

"Rhodey, he'll be turning up with Tony and Pepper. Then there's Bruce. Carol will be there in person and Rocket and Nebula will be there in hologram, if they're able. I'm not sure about Thor.."

"Almost the full line-up."

"As full as it's gonna get."

There was a pause and neither of us knew how to fill it. A notification pinged through from Friday but I ignored it. If it was urgent she would have spoken.

"Both of us are more suited to action," Okoye said, "and yet, we've both been caught by the red tape."

"We should probably learn how to say no."

She laughed, I think there was some bitterness to it.

"Wouldn't matter, people like us always step up to do what needs to be done. I love my country, you love your team. They both needed us to keep from falling apart."

* * *

**15 March 2019**

It was like walking into a joke.

A god, a rock man, and a bug like thing are all sitting on the sofa together.

The punch line?

I wish there was one.

Sometimes you prod at things and then poke at them and as time goes on your actions become more invested until you realise that once harmless looking thing you were kicking was in actual fact a hornet's nest.

That's what I did with Thor.

I prodded him to talk. Then I poked Valkyrie to make him talk. Then I shook her for more details until I was walking off the Quinjet, as soon as it landed in New Asgard, ready to kick down his door (and anyone who stood in my way).

I gave Valkyrie a heads up; part common courtesy, part necessity with the amended Accords. And that, of course, meant I expected to touch down surrounded by protective warrior people telling me to be on my way.

What I got was Valkyrie herself in waders and an anorak, wearing a defeated if somewhat impatient expression.

"You're later than I thought," she called as I stepped out of the jet.

"Sorry, there was traffic over the North Atlantic."

"You know, I've read up about you."

"Oh goodie, you can join the club. General Ross is a big fan."

"No mention of you being funny."

"Excellent, unappreciated in my time. All the best people are."

We stood there, at the foot of a hill, but still somehow above the village, and sized each other up. Tony was so sure she was isolating Thor from us that some of his paranoia started to rub off on me. Several times he threatened to go out there, blasters blazing, and I only managed to stop him by suggesting I scope it out first. But, as we looked each other up and down, I saw nothing but the same person who came knocking at the compound. I'm sure she had secrets and judging from what Bruce had told me, there was some darkness there as there was with everyone. But not the sort Tony had convinced himself of.

"How is he?" I asked and she shook her head. There was a burst of anger in her eyes and for a moment I didn't know what it was directed at. It burned bright and it burned hot and I could see the warrior spirit within her.

"At first we thought he was getting better. But getting him to come outside is impossible. He just eats and drinks and plays games and pretends like everything is fine. Any fool can see it is not."

The urge to swear and yell was strong. I hated him leaving, I thought he was making progress but then he upped and left before I could be sure. The only thing that made me okay with it was the possibility that being with his people was the salve he needed. That they might help stitch together his wounds better than we ever could. It was then I knew Valkyrie's anger was aimed at Thor because that's where I felt mine going. I wanted to yell at him, slap him until he came to his senses.

But I took a deep breath.

That wouldn't help anyone.

"I know right," the Asgardian smirked, "the man's infuriating. But I get it. We just have to be thankful he didn't sink lower. Hel, I did when it was me. And anyone shouting at me would just drive me further down."

"And how did you climb back out of it?"

"His royal drunkness gave me purpose again. Mixed with it being the right time, I guess. Any earlier and I would have shut him down."

We started to walk towards the village, the grass sloping beneath us and the sound of the sea carried on the wind, which dragged long fingers through our hair.

"Cosy place you got here, " I said once we were on the pathway that overlooked the settlement.

"Not a patch on the original, but it has a certain charm."

The dirt track soon turned into a paved path and she lead me down to the very centre of the village, which also happened to be based around the docks. Survivors of Hela and Thanos milled around, bringing in their catch from the sea, fixing traps, or repairing ropes and netting. It was quaint. Heartening to see how easily they adapted to their new life, but sad that they even had to. A race of such might reduced to dregs by the goddess and harbinger of death.

"He's in that one," my companion nodded to a building that overlooked the water, "don't expect much. He's got his buddies over."

I knocked twice, the only answer a muffled yell that I took to mean 'come in'. The door creaked a little, hinges no doubt rusted in the salt air, and so did the floorboards. The hallway was crowded with stuff. It was the only word I could think of to describe it.

Just stuff.

Voices trickled out from a room to my left and I braced myself for what I was going to see. I could already tell from the voice that he was Thor, but not really. The laughter that boomed out was false, as was the cheer he injected into his voice. His speech was a little slurred and it pained me to think how much he had to drink to get like that.

And that brings us back to the joke I walked in on. The one without a punch line.

"Natasha!"

My ears were assaulted with the noise and then my nose was overwhelmed the stench of stale beer as someone wrapped their arms around me and hugged. It took a second to realise it was Thor. The once hard muscles were less defined, the hair was longer and knotted, as was the beard, which also came with the added bonus of crumbs. When he pulled back I saw the stains on his t-shirt and the beer cans and bottles dotted around the place.

"Friends, this is Natasha. She is a much fearsome Midgardian warrior who has dispatched many an enemy at my side. Natasha, these are my friends."

The lump of stone stood up, and some rock dust fell from his shirt and joints, and offered me a hand.

"Hi there. Name's Korg. Don't worry, I am made of rock, this isn't a skin condition. And that over there is Miek and he's, well, I'm not really sure what he is but he's killing us on this game. Would you like to join? We have another controller round here somewhere. I think Groot the fern has it."

For the first time I spotted the TV that took centre stage in the room. While it paled in comparison to Friday, it was still an impressive set up. And next to that was indeed a plant with a console controller hanging out in its soil.

The tips of its leaves were browning and the soil looked dry. There were bottles around it that made me suspect it wasn't get the right type of liquid.

"Don't let Rocket know you've named your plant after Groot."

"Rabbit! How is he? Does he still mutter and grumble to himself? He is the grumpiest rabbit."

"Err, sorry to interrupt, Thor, Natasha. But I need an answer about the game before we continue. Don't want to get into it only to pause again because we need to add another player. You know, how it gets, right Thor? Miek is not a patient person."

"I'm fine, thank you Korg. I'm just here to speak with Thor."

"Oh, okay. Enjoy your conversation. We'll try not to listen in." He rejoined his friend on the sofa and both of them resumed what they were doing. Thor looked at them with the bemused expression that seemed to be a permanent feature.

"Do not be down hearted, friend. I have never seen Natasha entertain such frivolities."

"You make me sound boring," I said, willing to see if small talk would get us anywhere. This was promising to be the most I'd ever heard him speak since Thanos.

"'Boring' is one of the few words I would never use to describe you. Would you like a libation?" He shuffled over to the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers from it. I shook my head. "Hmm, more for me then."

The coastal wind whipped around the house and rattled the light fixtures as it passed. Through the window I saw waves crashing in on themselves, rushing to the shore then receding back. Gunfire and explosions crackled from the TV, and there was a hiss of release as Thor used Stormbreaker to open his drink.

"How're you doing?" I asked after he settled himself into an armchair and I was left standing. The bottle clinked against others as he put it down on a small table beside him, empty packets and wrappers overflowed onto the floor.

"Is that why you are here? To inquire after my wellbeing?"

"Sort of. I wanted to let you know you're not required to attend the anniversary next month. They understand you and your people have a lot to adapt to and they need you more than we do."

"Ah, you are here to coddle me further," he stood up and the chair scraped back a couple of inches. The man towered over me but he wasn't as intimidating as he once was. "I do not need your sympathy, I am fine. I have my friends and our games. My people thrive in this tiny village. I will honour our fallen comrades who now sing their songs of victory in the halls of Valhalla. I will be in Wakanda. What can the memory of Thanos take away from me that the real thing hasn't?"

He flinched as he spoke. Bitterness swirled around his words and he took another swig of beer to wash it away. Then, with a sigh, he threw himself back into the armchair and helped himself to a cold slice of pizza from the box at his feet.

Again, I wanted to yell at him, tell him a memory is often more powerful. They build up until they are all consuming, until you are afraid to think or dream. Memories haunt and goad and torment. It was already taking away his mind, could he not see that?

No, he couldn't. He was feeding himself and he was speaking. He enjoyed the company of his friends, who eyed us from the sofa, having paused the game again as Thor spoke. He pretended to the world, and to himself, that he was fine. But he was the only one who believed it.

"You are welcome to stay, Natasha, as long as you do not talk about Wakanda again."

I stayed. What can you do? It didn't matter how frustrating he was, I couldn't turn my back on a friend.

I watched them play their game, even tried the frivolity for myself. Drank their drinks and ate their food. And I stayed silent as my heart broke at the shattered sight of one of the strongest people I knew.

"Oh, hang on there," Korg said as I got up to leave, "I started up a Sakaaran book club. Well actually, it began as a rebellion but, as you can see, we're not on Sakaar anymore. Take a leaflet, we meet on the last Friday of every month, there are snacks and drinks. Much like a rebellion army, a bookworm marches on their stomach, I think. We're reading Animal Farm this month. Sounds cute."

I took his leaflet. He'd crossed out the word rebellion with black marker and written book club underneath it.

"Thanks."

Thor followed me to the door, which I didn't expect. He'd looked pretty attached to the armchair for most of the day. For the first time I saw something other than forced geniality. I hugged him.

"You really don't have to go," I whispered.

"I am fine," he said, though with less conviction.

"No, you're not," I said but the door was closed before the words were finished. I trekked my way to the ship and struggled to blink back the tears.

* * *

**23 March 2019**

Hi Tom,

The news is going crazy.

Police and forensics splashed across each channel, website and front page. If I catch the reports at the right time I see myself, Rhodey and Steve walking out of a building together. Or Rhodey at the press conference as he explained the details.

Another mass killing.

Once again all the victims are gang members.

No survivors.

But they don't care. They have other questions. Why are the Avengers involved? Is it a new vigilante? Or another super villain? The more extreme ask if there's any point in investigating? They're killing killers, after all.

Rhodey answers, deflects and distracts with practiced ease.

The Whitehouse isn't impressed with the optics of all three of us visiting the crime scenes. For once I agree with them. Panic is the last thing anyone needs. And that's sad because the Avengers aren't supposed to incite panic, we're supposed to erase it.

So, we've agreed, Rhodey will be the only one to visit the crime scenes in future. He will send us video and photos.

The man still needs rest though, so I sent him to track down a lead Steve had already exhausted. While his superiors think he's on a radio silent job, he's in fact recharging at Tony and Pepper's. Falling a little more in love with Morgan every day.

It took some coaxing, actually it took threatening, and not even from me. I didn't ask the details, but Rhodey said Tony could be very convincing when he needed to be.

Meanwhile I'm looking into some community outreach initiatives that Steve and I can work with, Bruce too once he's hulked up, and the others whenever they're back on Earth.


	28. Chapter 28

**11 April 2019**

Hi Tom,

We got our finalised schedule for the anniversary today.

You've probably guessed by now when something is bothering me I go to the gym and take my frustrations out on whatever unlucky equipment has come to reside with the Avengers. That's Plan A.

Plan B is going for a run around the perimeter three or four times. Using my feet to pound the ground rather than my fists pounding the punch bag. It's that or going out looking for a fight. But I'm committed to keeping my promise about pushing paper instead of my luck.

And, I'm sure you remember, Plan C is digging out my ballet shoes and working my way through whatever routines come to mind. And, for whatever reason, it always seems to be cut short by Steve bringing guests into the gym to watch me reliving a part of my past I'd rather they didn't.

I might have to add a do not disturb alert to Friday whenever I dance.

That way I can avoid the embarrassment of Steve walking in with the Starks in tow. Pepper I didn't mind so much. It was her husband I took issue with.

They wanted to get out of the house, Pepper explained. It didn't take much for Tony to go a bit stir crazy and she thought it would be good for Morgan to see more of her auntie Nat and uncle Steve, and Steve just happened to be the first person they came across.

"Dunno, in his work uniform I think he's more like Uncle Sam," I said and took a childish pleasure when he blushed, the meaner part of me glad to share the burden of embarrassment. Not the nicest thing, I know. But I've done a lot worse. To his credit he pointed to me as the posters had once pointed at potential recruits and embraced the moment. Pepper and I laughed.

Tony, however, missed out on all of this because he was rooted to the spot, mouth agape before he started to splutter. "Did anyone else see that? It wasn't just me right?"

I sighed, rubbed at my eyes and stretched my back out as I walked over to them. "You're in so much trouble," I said to Steve so Tony couldn't hear.

"Sorry, I thought you were training as normal. I should have checked with Friday."

"You mean she's done this before? Doesn't ballet make you a bit soft?" Tony said and though many a person would have taken offence at the words I knew he was just trying to figure out a mystery. It's not like my work screamed ballet dancer. And yet, I was still treading on the coattails of embarrassment and couldn't help but snap a little.

"Can test that if you want?"

"How many is that now?" He sidestepped my question like a crab on a morning stroll as he spoke mostly to himself, ticking a list off on his fingers as he went. "Ballerina Nat, Babysitter Nat, Black Widow Nat, Director Nat, Hacker Nat, Diplomat Nat - I like that one, it rhymes - Spy Nat, Avenger Nat, Fugitive Nat, Blonde Nat, Notary Nat - you're giving Barbie a run for her money. Oooh, new nickname for you."

"I swear to god, if you start calling me Barbie I'm going to-"

"What, plié me to death?"

"Tony Stark, everyone, carrying on his four year streak of not saying anything useful," I said and he held a hand to his heart in mock hurt.

"Ouch. Villanelle. Why must you cut so deep?"

"Who?"

"Don't tell me you haven't seen Killing Eve."

He decided to extol the virtues of the show as we left the gym and headed to the kitchen. Steve tried to slip away but I kept a tight hold on his arm. He was sitting through this lunch as well. He felt guilty enough that he didn't argue and it was almost worth Tony uncovering the ballet facet of my life to have the two of them in the same room for an extended period of time.

The words shared over frittata and apple juice were civil. I didn't manage much of my meal before I gave up on it. I passed the rest to Steve who piled it onto his plate without question.

"Did you guys get the schedule?" Pepper asked when all small talk had dwindled and it was the only thing left to broach. I didn't have to look at him to know Steve had the same anguish in his eyes that I felt in my bones.

"Yeah," I said. And in that single word I heard all the pain and strain that pummelled me from within. The hot, twisting need and desperation to find a way to right things. It was mixed with the standard sorrow and guilt that I'd carried for most of my life, the same sorrow and guilt that had grown more intense over the past almost year. Together they formed that swirling pit of darkness that Thor struggled against.

I heard all of that, in a single word.

I just hoped no one else did.

They didn't say anything. Finished lunch, spoke about other things, laughed at jokes. Bruce arrived back from his future dwelling and distracted Tony with science talk before retreating with him to the lab.

In the billionaire's absence, Steve finally allowed himself to be convinced to hold Morgan; she laughed at the awkward man looking down at her.

In that unguarded moment, as Pepper watched the former Captain America holding her daughter, I saw her own sorrow flicker through her eyes.

Maybe that email had us all standing at the edge of the pit as we mourned what should never have been.

* * *

**23 April 2019**

Hi Tom,

Beauty is an overused term.

Kind of a side effect of unrealistic ideals forced onto society, but I digress.

When people say something is beautiful or the most beautiful thing they've ever seen, I take their words with a pinch of salt. Sure, it's in the eye of the beholder but, as with everything in life, beauty evolves over time.

And nowhere has it evolved better than in Wakanda.

When I first saw the country, and the citadel at its centre, it took my breath away. Only two other things have earned that reaction. The most recent was the view from Sokovia as it flew higher and higher into the sky. Standing at the edge of that chunk of land and seeing the Earth shrinking beneath us was astounding. Though it's possible the altitude played a part in that bout of breathlessness.

And the other one, well that's when I saw the sea for the first time. Endless blue. Nothing but water and sky. If I got lost out there, on it or under it, the Red Room would never find me.

Wakanda was different though. Hidden behind shielding technology, open to the world but still protecting itself, sneaking up on you when you fly through the right spot. One second there are trees and the next there are fields below and an intelligent city reaching up to the sky right in front of you. It's natural beauty is matched only by the craftsmanship of each of its buildings.

Even the memories of last year cannot take that away. Even when we made our way through the force field again and witnessed the evening sun bathe everything in gold, the plains still scarred by the battle. Even when we flew over the trenches and the patches of grass that stood out; where alien machines had carved their mark or exploded, where little fires had burned across the land. Collateral damage as we fought for our right to live, as collateral as the corpses and carcasses the flames had consumed.

When Steve, Bruce and I landed Okoye was there to greet us, as she had been a year ago. except this time she took centre stage where T'challa once had. She gave each of us a warm smile and a firm handshake and I knew that, with the exception of the other Avengers, we were the only ones those two actions were sincere for.

"Where is my bow, Doctor Banner?" She said and took pity when the man grew too flustered to answer, "relax, I'm joking. We still don't do that here."

As we walked she gave us a quick rundown of who was arriving when and anything we might find pertinent in the run up to the event. She took us to the guest residence attached to the palace and pointed out each of our rooms.

"I've made sure you're not in the same ones as before. I imagine it is already difficult enough to be here without us adding a sense of déjà vu."

She was called away, other duties more important than settling acquaintances into their temporary accommodation. The three of us stood in the corridor for a few seconds and looked at each other, left with nothing but our company, our luggage and our dread.

We sighed and went to lay claim to what was going to be ours for the next few days.

* * *

**24 April 2019**

Hi Tom,

Beauty. Again.

There are many pockets of it here. But the one that fascinates me the most is the beauty weaved into the fighting style of the Dora Milaje. I saw them at work last year but as much as I would have liked to stop and admire their skill, there were other more pressing things going on around us.

There's nothing stopping me now, though.

They are regimented and disciplined as any world class fighting force is, but they are given room for creativity in their fighting. Resourcefulness is encouraged because it doesn't matter how much you prepare, things always have the potential to go wrong. They must go through their motions and routines, but they must also think on their feet. If anyone is unable to, then I guess they aren't recruited.

They are lethal, trained to incapacitate first and kill last. Depending on the threat level.

When I watch them I think of what the Red Room could have been like, in another world. The Dora Milaje have camaraderie, we had isolation. The Wakandan warriors chose their way of life. We didn't. We were just girls who slipped through the cracks and landed in a hellhole. Forced to march to the beat of an infernal drum, pursuing standards so high they were almost impossible to reach. If we failed we fell to our deaths.

Like the Dora, we started as girls who trained together. Unlike them we also lost our hope together. Our individuality together. Our souls together. Unlike them, we were never a team. How could we be when we were always in competition with each other?

We bettered each other only because we had to be better than someone else. We watched each other only so the same mistakes didn't destroy us, too.

And we killed each other. Because better them than me, right?

If we were raised as a team we could have been unstoppable. But that was never the Red Room's way.

But it was the Wakandan way.

I have seen many a person fight, many a technique employed, and many a weapon used. And the Dora Milaje? Well, they're the best out there. Their spears an extension of their arms, their fighting style the perfect blend of elegance and death. To challenge them is asking to die.

Not even the girls of the Red Room could match their skill because it stemmed from a trust of the women they worked with. They placed their life in the hands of their fellow soldiers and trusted them to look after it. They were motivated by the humble honour of serving their royal leaders, the kinship of belonging to such an exclusive group, and the love of the country around them. They fought to protect. The Black Widows were motivated by fear and beatings. Lies and threats. Lofty ambitions of being the best there is; using the blood of our victims to paint our name into the history books. We fought because it was all we knew.

But, fear only gets you so far. Love and honour take you so much further.

And it's that which threads the Dora Milaje together. It's that which turns them into a team.

Did the Avengers ever have that? Maybe. I guess there were bits of it there. We had a respect for each other. Trust was much harder to come by, though. We were like a puzzle put together wrong. If we had more time then maybe those flashes of promise could have evolved into something more.

Fighting alongside Okoye and her army against Thanos was eye-opening. To love a country as fiercely as they loved theirs?

A foreign concept to me.

I had pledged my allegiance to two countries in my life and both turned their backs on me. Russia took me and turned me into something unthinkable. America allowed me to reclaim pieces of myself but it never forgot what I once was or where I came from. The first chance it had and my name was back at the top of its most wanted list.

So, when it happened that my habit of observing the Dora's training sessions hadn't gone unnoticed and Okoye personally delivered an invitation to join them, I couldn't turn it down.

I was there before the sun had risen, before the stars had even tucked themselves in for the day. I wore the uniform provided and wielded one of their weapons. I stepped on the deserted training field with anticipation filling my lungs as I breathed in the cool air of pre-dawn. The new general was next to appear and she could only nod in greeting before the rest arrived.

I dove into their drills, kept up with their sprints and tests of fitness, and studied the way they moved. I let myself believe I was one of them, that I was Wakandan and held a love for my country I'd never felt before. And it wasn't long before 'Wakandan' became 'Avenger and 'country' switched to 'friends' in my head.

When that happened I trained like I'd never trained before.

I matched every single one of the Dora Milaje in skill, stamina, grace and, for the first time, conviction. Even when I sparred with each of them, one-on-one, I didn't fade. More than pride, more than honour, on the line.

When the day came to an end there was nothing but respect for all there. These women could teach so much about the art of fighting, of being part of a cohesive whole. I wished I had their wisdom years ago, and I was honoured to have their respect.

It wasn't until I'd showered and changed that I realised Okoye had come down to watch us. She knocked on my door and strode in alone once I opened it, guards nowhere in sight.

"Thank you for joining them today," she said, standing ramrod straight, eyes never once straying to the comfortable chairs. Not even when I offered her a seat and she declined.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said, "I haven't trained that hard for a long time."

"I assure you, it benefits them more than it benefits you." She caught the question in my gaze and smiled. "I wanted to give them a real test."

"And here I was thinking you were testing me."

"Of course. I need to make sure the person I'm reporting to is _worth_ reporting to. It's not just my reputation on the line after all."

"And what conclusion did you come to?

"That we have missed out on a fine warrior but we are lucky to have you leading the Avengers through these difficult times."

A fine warrior. There were worse things to be.

I'd already been some of them.

* * *

**25 April 2019**

Hey Tom,

Carol arrived earlier. She decided to lose herself in the city, said she really wanted to know it and if she learned anything on her travels, you can't truly know a place until you get lost in it.

Then Tony and Pepper turned up, sans Rhodey.

Naturally that set off my internal alarm system.

I watched from afar as they stepped off a jet and greeted Okoye, who waited for them. I kept an eye on the vehicle, waiting for him to step out but Tony and Pepper didn't hang around before they headed into the palace, I rushed to greet them, hearing Tony's enthusiasm as he spoke about their shielding technology.

"Nat," Pepper's voice clattered against the walls of the hall when she saw me. She enveloped me in a hug and I felt tension course its way through her.

"You alright?" I asked as I stepped back, keeping my hands on her shoulder, worried something had happened.

"I'm fine, just the first time I've left Morgan. It's take all my willpower not to call Happy every twelve seconds."

I felt myself relax. Though I sympathised with her it was a relief to know Rhodey wasn't in any immediate danger.

"I wouldn't worry," I said, sneaking a peek at Tony as he shuffled his way over, sunglasses still on as he checked his phone, "I think Tony has it covered."

Pepper turned to look at him and caught the Friday notification, updating him on what was happening back home.

"Tony."

"In my defence, I didn't think I'd get caught," he held up his hands and peered around Pepper to shoot me an evil look, "thanks for ratting me out, Blondie. I thought you were meant to be good at keeping things to yourself."

"You've just spent the entire journey telling me not to worry and that we'll be back in no time."

"Yeah, because I knew everything was okay. I just wanted you to be able to relax about heading out when you need to."

"Hypocrite," she slapped his shoulder before kissing his cheek.

"You know, I think you make a valid point."

I stayed with them as they were given the rest of the welcome speech and a quick tour of the public areas. Once that was done Okoye entrusted me with showing them to their room, which left us free to speak without anyone listening in.

"Where's Rhodey?"

"Detained," Tony said, "didn't you get the alert? There was another killing. He'll hoof it over in his suit as soon as he can."

"How bad is it?"

"Not sure."

They disappeared into their room and I went to mine, trying to ignore the sinking of my stomach.

* * *

**26 April 2019**

Hi Tom,

Today brought out many feelings. But none of them new. So what can I say about today? Exactly one year since we fucked everything up.

I can say that I don't remember much of it, just snippets of this and that:

Moonlight shifting across my bedroom ceiling until it became day.

Condensation on my bathroom mirror when I stepped out of the shower, a hollowness ringing through me as I wiped it away to uncover my reflection.

Gaunt face, haunted eyes.

Stubborn blonde hair.

Except for the roots.

Like a trail of blood.

Echoing corridors and slamming doors.

Hurried guards and harried servants.

Plants coming to life under the warm caress of the Wakandan sun, letting their sweet, sometimes bitter, aroma off into the air.

I can say all of that, if you want Tom, but it seems kind of inadequate. They're snippets of nothing. I have more, but I'm sure you could care less about those sort of details.

I can tell you the day defied time. It moved then it didn't. Seconds took minutes and hours took seconds.

Or maybe you want to know about Steve. How he hid on the balcony that looked out over the plains. A balcony with a view of the outcrop of trees where everything went to shit. Trees that grew amongst Vision's pleas for logic and action and for Wanda to do the right thing, and the cries of her grief as she gave in to him. Trees that witnessed the bending of reality, the reversal of time, the destruction of life.

Steve remembered all of that and he stood surrounded by the same shame that surrounded me.

Unliftable, unshiftable shame.

He had no words for me when I joined him in his silent vigil, as I had none for him. There was nothing to say that hadn't already been said. Tears glistened on his cheeks and I didn't pretend not to see them, because he couldn't pretend not to see mine. Refusing to fall but still there. His sorrow was bone-deep and suffocating and he couldn't hide the pain anymore, even if it was just for the day. It overwhelmed him so completely that he didn't even try to slip away when Tony and Pepper joined us.

They too were wading through their pain. Pepper's eyes were rimmed with red, a little puffy. Tony's lips were downturned, his usual wit missing. They clutched each other's hand as if one of them would disappear if they ever let go.

No one said anything on that balcony. It remained a place of silence, of remembering. Somewhere for us to get the bulk of our emotions out before the world's media recorded everything we said and did. The peace of our reflection would not last long.

It was Steve who broke it. His voice harsh and cracked, even as a whisper. I wish I could forget the way he sounded, I wish I could shake the despair it brought out in me.

"How do you do it? How do you keep it together?"

And I didn't answer right away. If I had, I would have yelled at him. Instead I let the yelling out in my mind. I let my thoughts scream. Don't you see? I'm falling apart. Instead I kept myself composed and whispered back.

"Because I have to."

I can tell you that an hour or so later when I found Bruce, he was hunched over on one of the benches, gripping his hands so tight the knuckles were white. I can say there was a turmoil in his eyes, so tumultuous it was enough to make anyone seasick. And the pain that radiated from him was second only to Thor's.

Who turned up not too long before the ceremony, who stumbled through the halls, burdened by guilt and unbalanced by drink. Carol was the only reason he hadn't collapsed into a heap of whisky fumes and regret. She looped her arm around him and muttered something about trying to sober him up.

When she disappeared Tony came into the hall, followed by the blue of holo-Rocket and Nebula, courtesy of portable devices he'd whipped together. Light years away, even they couldn't hide their feelings.

And Tom, I really wish that was all I had to say. I wish nothing more had happened. I wish I can tell you I remember the ceremony and the journey back home. I wish I can tell you the worst of it was the emotions that overwhelmed everyone. That plagued the speeches and the conversations and the very atmosphere. I wish the mere memory of one year ago was the most painful thing about today.

But Rhodey turned up, fresh from his investigation. And he brought with him footage from a camera overlooked by the attacker. Low quality but a lead nonetheless. I remember searching his eyes and he knew it was something but he wasn't quite sure what he had.

A pixellated shadow haunted the streets before disappearing into the building. Several minutes later it re-emerged and faded into the crowd. It was impossible to see anything apart from the way it walked.

It was a walk I knew well.

The hunched shoulders.

The hanging head.

The talent for disappearing in plain view.

And all I could think about as the speeches happened, as I gave my own, as we watched the flyby and the ceremonial performances, as we commemorated and remembered the fallen, was...

...Fuck.

It was Clint.


	29. Chapter 29

**26 April 2019 Continued**

Fucking Clint.

Fucking Thanos.

Fuck the both of them.

Those were the thoughts that swirled through my head. Those and several thanks yous to the person who now had my eternal gratitude for creating auto-pilot as I flew back to America.

Standing on ceremony, being passed from one dignitary to another, one Black-Widow-hating politician to another, that wasn't something I could bear.

Not then.

I never wanted to be in Wakanda for the anniversary. I went because I had to. And I would always have to.

But the revelation sent me spinning. Spinning away from the huddle of current and former Avengers with nothing but an 'I need to go'. Spinning away from the shouts they sent after me, Steve and Rhodey the loudest. Spinning towards the Quinjet, every intent of going to where I wanted to be.

Once I left African airspace clouds smothered the jet and stayed there for the rest of the journey. The monotony of it helped me pull some strands of self together. I breathed deep and willed my mask back in place. Willed my walls to rebuild themselves.

I needed to function.

I needed to have control.

Reaction was neither of those things.

And yet the fact I was alone in a Quinjet heading to the farm was evidence that reacting was all I had done since seeing the footage.

So I summoned more of those strands. Focused them through my pen and jotted everything down. All the snippets and the snapshots of the day.

Thinking that was all I needed to write. That nothing else could possibly happen that would be worth noting down.

I was wrong.

I was wrong because right now I'm sat in my clearing, nursing a few bruises, a split lip, a cut above my forehead.

It's my favourite place in the whole world, you know. I've been to a lot of places. Seen a lot of things. But nothing compares to here.

It was something I never used to understand.

Grew up in Russia, climbed mountains, been to Niagara Falls, crept through jungles, seen too many deserts for my liking, admired the wild countryside of Scotland, as well as the manicured lawns of aristocratic France. I've seen a planet full of gardens and foliage much more exotic than what's around me now.

But here, right here, was always the best.

And I guess I get it, now. Now that I know what it's missing.

Like the house, it's lifeless without the family that came with it. The miscreants who could always be heard in the distance.

In hindsight I think I knew he'd be here. Some sixth sense guided me.

Or maybe just common sense.

Where else would he go to pay his respects? It was the place he last saw them. The place he felt closest to them. Their essence was imbued in the building and the land, whether they were around or not. Hell, that's why I fought to get the house. That's why I fled Wakanda for the farm.

Familiarity and comfort.

When I stepped through the front door it didn't have that same empty feeling as it did the last time. It was heavy with the presence of a someone and you didn't have to be a genius to know who that someone was. Even before a door slammed shut. Even before footsteps echoed along the upstairs landing.

Two noises that followed me everywhere. Since childhood.

Echo. Slam.

In the Red Room.

At Shield HQ.

The Avengers compound.

The Wakandan Palace.

Now the farm. A place that has suffered many a slammed door throughout the adolescence of its younger inhabitants. Never an echo.

There was stillness in the wake of the activity upstairs. As if the presence up there had felt mine on the floor below. So I moved. Slipped into the kitchen. Spotted the empty beer bottles, a new addition since my last visit.

They clinked and tinkled when I cleared them away.

He radiated wild energy and stale alcohol. The silence crackled as he stood in the doorway and I didn't dare turn to face him. A part of me thought that as long as we stayed as we were nothing would change. No conversation would happen. No emotions would spiral out of control. We wouldn't throw words at each other as if they were knives.

I wanted it to stay that way, for the moment to stretch on until we found a way to escape it that didn't result in confrontation. The trash bag grew warm in my grip. Some idiot bird decided to treat us to a song.

"You're trespassing," Clint said. His voice was so familiar it ached. And so different it ached even more. There was a current beneath his words. Danger weaved its way through them, lighting the fuse so anger boiled my nerves.

"No, I'm not," I said and it took all the willpower I had not to slam my fist on the countertop as I finally turned, "if you'd been playing responsible adult instead of vigilante then you'd know that."

The chuckle that leaked from his mouth was as dark as my past and it did everything it needed to bring my temper to the surface.

I put the dining table between us.

I tried to remember how I felt the last time I was here. The desire to help him. To be there for him. To stand by him. But it was being overshadowed by the constant reminders of his overwhelming moronics. The glazed look in his eyes, as if he'd drunk so much his body had produced a film of alcohol over them. The torn clothing; damaged in the name of their owner's war. The fact that he looked like an intruder in his own home.

"Saw you on TV," he said and staggered into the table as he nodded towards the living room. He tried to clap but couldn't coordinate his hands together effectively. Bet he could still wield a bow, though. "Great speech, really. Thought you looked a little distracted though."

"I guess that's what happens when you find out your best friend is going round chopping people in half."

"Thought I should get a hobby." He tried to walk around the table but had to hold onto a chair for support. How did he even make it down the stairs without falling? "What are you doing, chaining yourself to a desk, dipping your toe into diplomacy and charity work?"

"I'm doing what needs to be done."

"No! I am." He beat his hands against his chest. "I'm doing what needs to be done. I'm cleaning up the streets your guys are ignoring." There was a flash of a moment when I knew he considered picking up the chair supporting him and smashing it on the ground. The only thing that stopped him was the echo of Laura's admonishment. Both of us knew what she would say.

And rather than let that shared moment bring us closer, I took the advantage to yell right back at him. Because he wasn't the only moron in the room.

"Rhodey was already on them, Barton. He was going down the legal route."

"Ha! The legal route! Bullshit Romanoff, since when do you care about that? Haven't you heard, I'm killing killers."

A retort sprang to my lips but I swallowed it. Didn't matter though. This was Clint. He saw the words in my eyes, heard the tone in the set of my jaw and the slight tension in my shoulders. I'm a killer.

He smirked.

And anger was all I knew as I leaped over the table.

Knuckles cracked against his jaw, pounded his stomach. Nails scratched at him as the rulebook went out the window.

And he fought back.

We spared no effort as we did our best to beat the crap out of each other. Every time I went for the attack I thought of the crime scenes, the blood and the bodies. I used it to fuel the anger that kept me going.

Knowing that he chose to leave us. That he chose to do this instead. That he chose to throw everything away.

That somehow, at some point, we'd passed each other on our respective paths. That he'd become everything I'd fought so hard to leave behind.

It was that thought which made me stop what I'd started. And I had time for another one before Clint got the memo.

_Almost_ everything. He wasn't killing innocent people.

We looked at each other for a long time, questioning what we saw. Both wondering who the person before us was. Neither sure what was going to happen next. Or if there were any words to say.

At some point during our scuffle we ended up on the floor, I scooted up until my back was resting against one of the units. He joined me a few seconds later. We studied the forest of chair legs in front of us and I heard him catch his breath.

There was a time in my past when I would have rather died than get taken in by a bow and arrow-wielding American. That was where he was at. I wanted to plead with him, tell him he needed to come back before his actions grew worse, before he lost himself as well. But there was a look in his eyes as I studied him and it told me it would only push him further away.

I'm not sure who initiated it but at some point our hands found each other on the floor and we clung on. With anger out of the way we were faced with the stone cold facts.

We were all we had left. From this life on the farm.

And we were on two very different paths. All we could do was hope they'd intersect again.

"Is this what Hawkeye is now?"

He turned his head to look at me and there were tears in the corners of his eyes as he replied. "Hawkeye isn't around anymore."

"Then who is?"

"I was thinking of Ronin. Seems suitable."

I leant back until my head rested against the cupboard door. Wanderer. Drifter. Unemployed.

Untethered.

Suitable indeed.

He sighed and did the same with his head but he wasn't gentle about it and banged it hard against the wood.

"Idiot," I said.

"Yeah, well. This is drunk Clint."

"No, no. This is almost normal Clint," I said. And then, so low even I had trouble hearing the words, "I'm sorry. About Laura and the kids."

"Yeah. Me too," he paused as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but barrelled forward anyway, "who else?"

"Vision's dead. Personally killed by Thanos. Wanda, Sam, Bucky, T'challa, Scott, that spider-kid." I looked at him and wondered if he knew about the next two. "Nick and Maria."

He cursed and used his free hand to rub at his eyes. It was grubby and scratched up from our fight. He cursed again.

"Fury huh, didn't think anything was gonna take that old bastard down."

"Unless he's faking it. Does have a history of it." He gave me a small smile with no amount of sincerity in it at all.

"You're not going to drop the investigation, are you?"

"Course not," I said as reality swooped back in with all haste, "but I'm also not going to arrest you _here_."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"No big speeches? No forcing me back to the compound? No warnings not to kill people?"

"As if you'd listen. I don't want you doing this to yourself. I want you back with us. But I also understand, and you stood by me while I tried to purge the world of my demons."

"Going back to the compound and burying your head in the sand is hardly standing by me."

I snatched my hand away as I felt the anger boil within again, but I kept my voice even. "Take what you can get, Clint. We're playing on a much bigger stage now." He opened his mouth to say something else but I ended the conversation as I stood and headed for the door. It was best to end this encounter on a neutral note if it couldn't end on a friendly one.

Attacking him definitely wasn't the best idea I'd had.

Unless...

"Come back with me Clint. Please. You don't even have to join the team. Just sit around eating cereal from the box, drinking milk from the carton. You know you've never been good in your own company."

It was a long shot.

And it missed.

He looked at the hand I offered, gave it some consideration and there was even some conflict running across his face. But in the end he shook his head. "I can't."

And I knew he wanted to be alone then. I opened the door and was in the process of stepping out.

"Hey, Nat," he called after me, I turned to look at him and he brought a hand to his hair and nodded my way, "the blonde, still not sure I like it."

I let my lip quirk upwards in a sad sort of smirk. "Join the club."

How can one day fuck everything up so much, Tom?

I wish I could bury my head in the sand , like he said. I wish I could just wait for everything to sort itself out. Wait for Clint to come to his senses. Instead I have to live through it all. My failure in being unable to help him. In making no progress with my research. In letting my emotions control me when I should be cool and logical.

If I was going to get through the pain of surviving then I needed to be the Black Widow. But that mask was broken, and I'm beginning to think it was beyond repair.

And even as I write that, tucked up against a tree in my clearing, all I can really think is that I'm so angry. At him for doing what he's done. For being the type of man that doesn't suit him. For being so fucking arrogant.

Really, though. Really I'm angry with myself. For playing it wrong. For hitting him with the hand I wanted to hold out in peace. For not being able to reel him back in.

* * *

**27 April 2019**

It's amazing how fast priorities change.

I knew as soon as I woke up in the clearing it was going to be a difficult day. One full of words and arguments and desperation as I try to convince two very patriotic men to lie to their government.

I said to Clint we wouldn't drop the investigation, and that was true, but I also didn't want it to get out that he was the one behind it all. He was a man on thin ice before the Decimation. A man they would make an example out of.

It was with dread I messaged Rhodey when I got back onto the Quinjet. Plans and ideas bubbled in my mind as towns and cities skated past below. My brain once again functioning as it needed to. The sooner I told them what I knew the better for all involved. Secrets always have a way of coming out, some even have the power to destroy. And Rhodes was a smart man. He'd figure out that I knew.

But I couldn't just hand Clint over to the authorities. I owed him more than that. No, _we_ owed him more than that. He was one of us, no matter what he's done, and he deserved us to stand by him, right?

At the very least we owed it to Laura and the kids.

It was overcast when I touched down at the compound. I stepped from the jet and the cuts across my face were accosted by the air. The stinging accompanied me inside, where the hope of slipping into my room and hiding the evidence of my run in with Clint and his fists was dashed. Steve met me at the door.

"What the hell happened?"

"Nothing."

"Tell that to your face," he said and I couldn't tell if he was trying to make a joke or not. He followed me as I kept on walking. "You left your team, Nat. You don't do that for nothing."

And there went the hope I had of breaking the news being even a little bit easy. It wasn't a very hopeful day.

There was a sound from the living area as we drew up to it and floor numbers counted down on the lift. For a second it felt like an ambush, as if I'd walked into some half-cocked plan of theirs.

"Who else is here?"

"Tony, Pepper, Bruce. Carol too, she hasn't flown away yet." There was something left unsaid and I wished he wasn't so easy to read. They were all concerned with my disappearance, all the more worrying when they came to the compound and I wasn't there.

"Okay." I massaged the bridge of my nose. "Okay. Rhodey is on his way. Meet me in the conference room in twenty."

Tired and achy, I ran up the stairs and straight to my quarters, not wanting to wait and face whoever was about to step out of the lift. Bits of grass and leaves trailed in my wake. The chill of the night followed though, refused to let go of its grip on my bones.

A hot shower should take care of that.

And hopefully give me time to gather more of my thoughts. Though clearer than yesterday they were still somewhat wild. Pinging around and bouncing against my skull.

As the water washed away the dirt and grime from the day before, I let my emotions swirl down the drain too. When I was dried and dressed I covered up the cuts as best I could and sighed my through the door and down the stairs.

On the way I uploaded the grainy footage of Clint to Friday and looked up to find a full room. Steve, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, Rhodey and Carol all looked back at me. I felt their eyes follow me as I went to stand at the head of the table and refused to sit.

"This is footage from the latest mass killing," I said without preamble and Friday played it. "And this," I waited for it to loop back round to the beginning with the shadow in full view, "is Ronin. He's responsible for all those deaths."

I had a second to wonder if using the new name was cowardice on my part, a way to put off what I had to do. But smart-guy-Rhodey didn't give me more than that.

"Care to tell us how you know that?" He eyed me with suspicion. "Or did you develop some precognitive abilities we weren't aware of?"

"Do we care? It's a lead," Tony jumped in. "If we know the name we're closer to bringing him in."

"I ran into him," I said, if they were going to disagree about something there was no point on letting them waste their energy on this. As I did so I brought an absent-minded-finger to trace the cut on my lip, the slight sting the only reason I knew it had happened. "Last night, on the farm."

This time it took longer for the silence to break, as comprehension took a while to click. And when it did it was deafening.

"Holy shit," Tony said, "Hawkeye's gone to the dark side?"

"Are you sure it's him?" Rhodey asked.

"And he hit you?" Was Steve's almost growl.

"Stand down," I said, "I threw the first punch."

"That's why you disappeared yesterday. You saw this and knew?" Bruce said and I nodded. Somehow he'd managed to keep his voice calm as the rest of the guys lost their cool. Carol and Pepper just looked at each other, both content to watch the circus unfold around them. As the noise reached a level I was almost certain the compound had never heard. I thought maybe there was a better way for me to break the news. No, this would always have been the outcome.

"We're not going to get anything sorted if you're all talking at once," I said and most of them shut up but Steve took the opportunity to make me want to punch him too, caught up as he was in the evolving complexities of his sometimes nonsensical moral code.

"What is there to sort out? We bring him in and hand him over to the authorities."

I don't really know how to explain my friendship with Steve. It took me by surprise and it didn't come from any overly fucked up situations, like with Clint and Tony. I mean, the circumstances weren't normal, sure, but unconventional and fucked up are two different things. Steve got to know me without any of the preconceptions that most people never bothered to get past. He saw me and not my history.

But, in that moment as he suggested we do to Clint what he wouldn't allow for Bucky, I wanted to give the preconceptions credence. Everyone else seemed to feel the atmosphere change as I let more of my Black Widow persona out. As cracked and damaged as she might be, she was still someone people didn't want to mess with. Yet, even though he knew he'd landed himself in hot water, Steve continued.

"It's the right thing to do."

"I'm not handing my partner over to the police in a world that has a very complex relationship with vigilantism." I crossed my arms and dared him to carry on down the path he was walking.

He was always up for a challenge.

"It's the law, now, Nat. You signed it."

"Huh, I guess I see how it is," I said in the cold voice of mine reserved for marks and interrogations, and when I'm furious but don't want people to know, "when it comes to Bucky there's no limit to what we can do, but with Clint we should just let someone else handle it." It was a low blow. I knew it when I thought it. Knew it when I said it. But the Black Widow doesn't play nice.

"Bucky didn't kill anyone in Vienna, Nat, and he wasn't in his right mind in Washington."

"Given the circumstances you can hardly say Clint's in his right mind either."

"She's got a point, Cap," Tony said.

"So do I."

"Now is not the time for a pissing contest, you two," I said as Tony opened his mouth to snap back. As they settled back into the depths of their seats I had Friday bring up images of Clint in his Hawkeye days. Some were from missions with just the two of us, others were from jobs with the rest of the Avengers and social nights at the tower. "You weren't there yesterday, Steve. What I saw wasn't him. Wasn't even close. But he's still one of us. He had his mind warped by Loki and we didn't toss him aside then. He was the only one of us who fought off Wanda in South Africa, and he opened his home to you so we could regroup and recover. His family is everything to him. Always the most important thing in his life. And he risked everything when he let the Avengers into his house. And he fought with you, Steve, when you asked him to. No questions asked. Look at him and think about those murder scenes. We can sit here and judge him if we want, but the reality is that it's damage our failure caused. Failure that happened because we didn't stand as a team. But, as a team, we need to be there for him, now."

"I understand, Nat. But he's killed people. He can't just get away with that." This time it was Rhodey who spoke.

"Then you might as well hand me over too, because I've done a lot worse. He's the reason I'm not still doing those things."

"But-"

"The world isn't as simple as black and white. Never has been, never will be," Carol said, "no matter where you go. Bad things happen when you choose to remain blind to the grey areas. I fought with the Kree and played my part in the genocide of a people. The Hulk kills and he's a part of Doctor Banner. Stark's company manufactured weapons that have killed so many all across this world. Do you blame the two of them for those consequences?

"Now, I don't know this Clint. I've never met him and I can't vouch for his character. But in my experience when one of your own is suffering it's beneficial for all of you to help rather than disown them. And I know if Fury trusted him, so should all of you."

"You sure do put a lot of stock in what Patch says, don't you," Tony said.

"Might have one eye but he gets a good read on people."

Steve stood and paced the room, he came to a stop with his hands on his hips. Give the man time to think about breaking the rules and it was always a problem. Otherwise breaking them was his natural instinct. Rhodey was having his own trouble, but he dealt with it in stillness.

"Just so I'm clear," Steve said, "we're seriously considering turning a blind eye to murder, here? We just let him roam the streets and do what he wants?"

"Course not. We're still going to try and stop him. Just, we'll bring him in on our own terms, set him up here instead of some prison under the sea." Tony shifted in his seat and cleared his throat at the reminder of what happened after Germany. "He's going to be hard to track. It _is_ Clint after all, if he doesn't want to be found then he won't be. I know how he thinks but that also means he knows how I think and we're more than capable of disappearing from each other. I'm just saying that perhaps we choose not to reveal his identity."

No one said anything for a minute or two, I refused to look at anyone though I felt several pairs of eyes land on me at varying intervals. Instead I looked at the pictures floating in front of us but saw only the man from yesterday.

As always, it was Steve who cut the silence short.

"But he just gets away with it."

"You know him, Steve, you really think he's not going to punish himself?"

I watched each emotion chase through his eyes and hated myself for being such a hypocrite in that moment. Pretending none of his thoughts hadn't been mine at some point. But acting in anger was dangerous. Consigning Clint to a future with no chance of redemption just because I was pissed at his life choices. That wasn't fair. Neither was it fair that I punched and kicked him in greeting, but I could only restrain my anger so much.

Steve leaned against the back wall, arms folded. Then he gave the smallest of nods. It eased the tension in the room. Yet, it wasn't him who was going to have to bear the brunt of government disapproval.

"Look, I have to give them something, Nat. I can't keep saying we're not making progress. That's a sure way to get the case taken out of our hands," Rhodey said.

"So give them Ronin. And a rough profile to go with it. Driven to action by the loss he suffered in the Decimation, he operates under the belief that he's ridding the world of the evil it's been left with. Say we know he's set his sights on gangs, we just don't know which ones and when. But he is enough of threat to require the Avengers."

Rhodey wasn't fully on board, and I doubted he ever would be. Which is fine, I was asking a lot. But he nodded. He agreed and I felt the worry shift a bit from my soul. He knew a thing or two about camaraderie, about sticking it out even in the face of huge challenges. He also knew the consequences of what happened the last time we disagreed on something, more than most of us.

"Thank you," I said, knowing I'd never be able to express my gratitude in full.

The discussion hadn't ended but there was no more need for my brand of persuasion. Carol had helped get the job done, though I'm not sure she realised how effective her words were with the people around her.

We would be ready to help Clint. The problem, of course, was waiting for him to ask for it.

Everyone started to file out of the room and I moved to the window. Letting the thoughts swirl once again. Trying to figure out what his next move would be, trying to think of how I could convince him to come back. And Pepper sidled up to me.

"I get he's your best friend and the two of you have been through a lot together, but you're talking about throwing another eff you at the government. I'm pretty sure it's a three strikes and you're out sort of thing. Is it worth it?"

"For Clint, yes," I said and turned to her and felt foolish for expecting to see some sort of judgement written all over her face. Instead there was understanding and an annoyed sort of acceptance as if she knew what I was going to say.

"Had to ask." She placed a hand on my shoulder. "Though, this right here, that's why we want you to be Morgan's godmother."

Someone caught their foot on a chair and we both turned to see Steve. He had that apologetic half-smile he'd perfected before doing something batshit crazy. Pepper flashed us both a smile and left. When I didn't say anything Steve took Pepper's place looking out the window, taking in the view we knew every inch of.

"If you're gonna tell me to reconsider I would walk away if I were you," I said.

"Actually, I was planning on saying sorry for questioning you. You're right, he's one of us and deserves our support."

"Oh," I said. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry for bringing up Bucky."

Silence fell over the room again. There were words on the tips of both our tongues but neither of us knew what they were. Seconds ticked by and I could almost feel the emails slipping into my inbox; piling on top of the ones I ignored yesterday.

"We'll find him, Nat. He can't keep doing it forever."

"But how many more people is he going to kill between now and then?"

Steve was right, the thirst for vengeance wasn't sustainable. And indulging it was never worth it. Not in the face of the pain that came afterwards; the struggle to make amends, to face up to the truth of who you are and what you've done. It all makes you regret the moment of weakness when you gave in. It's not long before the regret turns into self-hatred. A hatred so vicious it's enough to convince you that carrying on isn't an option.

It hurts to know what Clint's going through now. But it's torture to know the agony that awaits him in the future.

* * *

**2 May 2019**

Hi Tom,

Steve's spent the last few days shooting worried looks my way. So has Bruce, when his head isn't buried in his work.

At this point I would usually feign ignorance. Distract them with my usual smirk and eyebrow quirk combo. Except, even I can't act like I don't know why they're doing it.

I haven't been eating. I haven't even pretended.

I've lost weight I can ill afford to lose, only recently reclaimed after my previous bout of not wanting to eat. Add to that the compulsive need to head to the gym or go for a run and I'm lighter than I was the first time round.

And the thing is, Tom, I know it's not good for me. I know I need the food to fuel the work out stints and to get my brain into gear. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

Seeing Clint. Knowing what he's done. It's so...

...Crushing? Depressing? Painful?

Take your pick. All of the above. I don't know.

I could easily curl up in my chair and let myself starve. Sometimes it's tempting. Especially when Steve is trying to coax nutrition into me one way or another. He's started trying to replace my morning coffee with some sort of super-healthy-kale's-probably-involved-smoothie-monstrosity.

So, this evening, I figured that was a good enough reason to sit down and think of something edible I could link to something happy. Untouchable, incorruptible memories. As Rhodey suggested.

Ice cream. The first thing I ate in America, courtesy of Clint. Except I'm pretty sure that one was a Shield special. It was a little chalky, a little grainy but the sweetest thing I'd ever eaten until that point. It held a soft spot in my heart. When all of Shield's files ended up on the internet, I regretted that the recipe wasn't part of them.

Then of course there was the hot chocolate thing. Another Clint-related memory and this one already ruined. So there was a big, fat cross next to it.

Pizza. Team nights at the tower, leftovers a more than satisfying breakfast (on the rare occasion Thor and Steve couldn't quite demolish what remained in the leaning tower of pizza boxes the night before). Back when everyone was together, before our little fall out. And way before I witnessed a struggling Thor fish a slice from a box at his feet. A no to that one as well then.

Borscht, pelmini, pirozhki. Anything from Russia was crossed off the list too. Ain't too many happy memories from there.

I was starting to think it was impossible. That just because it was something that helped Rhodey didn't mean it would help me. He was more in tune with emotions than I was and maybe there wasn't anything out there I could pick.

Or maybe I was thinking too hard.

I shut my eyes and closed off all active thoughts. I let the less dominant ones wonder, just let them be. I felt the cold air around me and the muted atmosphere of a building meant for many reduced to three inhabitants. And then I thought of the farm. That had a good people to building ratio. Even when the kids were at school it still felt alive. Even when Clint and Laura were out and I was babysitting, there was life in those four walls.

And laughter, always laughter.

Screeching laughter and uncontrollable giggles of the kids as they mucked themselves up when they helped me make their lunch. Always Cooper's favourite, which also became Lila's and later Nate's. Without fail they ended up sticky, the kitchen a mess, and chasing me as they tried to see who could cover me with the most handprints.

I opened my eyes. It would have been a good time for my stomach to rumble. In truth it roiled a little bit more.

Steve found me in the kitchen a little later; too late for dinner, too early for a midnight snack.

"Nutritional," he said, eyebrows skirted his hairline as he took in the bread, jelly and peanut butter still on the counter.

I swallowed the last of my sandwich. "Better than air."

"I guess." He shrugged and bustled about the kitchen while I closed my eyes to assess my stomach, hoping it would accept what I'd given and not return it a sloppy mess. When he came to the table, Steve placed something in front of me with a mild thunk.

"I hope that's orange juice," I said when I opened my eyes, "because if it turns out you've found some sort of genetically modified orange kale and turned it into another of your smoothies, this is going over your head."

* * *

**11 May 2019**

Nights are a struggle, still.

Sleep is elusive or haunted by ugly visions.

I've taken to heading to the roof and watching the night sky. On the way I tend to bump into Steve, who likes to wonder the halls before retiring for the night.

It's gotten so regular he's rekindled the 'see you in a minute' joke whenever I say I'm going to bed.

The sky always looks the same. As if nothing is happening. Content in the status quo. Looks are deceiving though. It's busy up there. Less of a status quo and more of a constant flux.

Every now and then it hits me that I've been up there. Travelled between those lonely stars.

And that usually makes me laugh at myself. A one-time visitor to space and I'm thinking I can defend it. I have no clue what's going on up there. No clue what I'm doing. I move the pieces across the board and pretend I know the rules. A dangerous way to play the game.

In the end I decided to do something about it.

There isn't an Intergalactic Guide for Dummies available. But, there is a seasoned space traveller happy to talk as long as I supply the good booze.

Carol likes exploring and getting back to nature. When she was with the Kree she lived in a metropolis. Buildings and vehicles and people everywhere. And then she started flying through space without a ship and she learned to be alone. To be comfortable with herself. Surrounded by the biggest natural phenomenon of all.

So she's often outside. Sometimes lounging on the dock, sometimes diving in the lake, sometimes flying through the trees around the property; testing her reflexes. If there was anything to be done outside then she would do it.

Including drinking.

The sun was becoming more of a regular visitor. There was heat behind its light but not enough to make me shed the thin hoody I had on. Everything smelled fresh and it was the sort of day where you couldn't help but feel a little hopeful about things in general.

I headed to the dock. Left the shot glasses and bottles of vodka in view on the bench and dropped the bag of food on the floor beside it.

Despite the day's fragile warmth, the glistening lake was too tempting. I pulled off my shoes and socks and trailed one foot through the water, sharp with cold. I spent the next few minutes buried in work on my tablet, though not deep enough to not notice when she landed.

"Need a drinking buddy?" She asked as she inspected one of the bottles.

"There's food, too." I nodded at the bag.

"Ah, so lunch date it is." She brought everything over and made sure it was all within arm's reach, then sat in front of my and mirrored my foot in the water.

"Busy day?" She asked as she poured shots for both of us.

"Always. Seems people can never stay out of trouble."

"Sounds like something Fury might say."

"I may have paraphrased him," I said and clinked my glass against hers before downing the contents. "Thanks for your help with Clint."

She shrugged as if it was the obvious thing to do. "Seems like he's important to you. Plus, he's part of the team. Not right to turn our back on him."

"We've turned our backs on each other before. Not always great at the whole team thing."

"Preaching to the choir," she said and we clinked glasses again, "I do prefer working alone."

I pulled the bag closer and foraged for the food within, then shoved the bag her way when I had what I wanted.

"What's it like out there?" I asked as she took a generous bite of her sandwich and I nibbled at mine.

"You asking for personal curiosity or for work?"

"Both."

"It's complicated, you know. You think it's tough here on Earth but it's worse out there."

I looked her dead in the eyes and wondered if she was putting me to some sort of test. In the end I decided to just bite the bullet.

"I want to learn. I need to know."

She leaned forward with smiling eyes and made sure we had full glasses again, then raised hers. "A toast. To Fury. His taste in people is as good as your taste in alcohol."

And so she started to teach me. Launched into Space Knowledge 101. Explained the general view of Earth amongst the skies. That it was a bit of a backwater and plenty of people are questioning how the most cataclysmic event in the universe originated from here. She told me about the most dominant forces across the different territories. Outlined alliances and feuds and the races that preferred to keep to themselves.

To hear her tell it there were almost an infinite amount of races with just as many histories and cultures to match. And there are a billion or so ways to insult each and every one. Rules and politics got in the way just as much as they did here, wrapping the worlds up in a twisted film of bullshit that kept any real harmony at bay. In fact, the Decimation was the most united they had ever been.

In their hatred of Thanos.

She told me about places like Knowhere and Xandar and Hala. When she started in on the details about the conflict between the Skrull and the Kree the sun was beginning to set. She had spoken so much and I was so enthralled by her words that the second bottle of Vodka was left untouched.

"Huh," she said once she noticed the sun, "I think that's probably enough for the moment. Didn't mean to get so carried away. So, ballerina, why don't you tell me some of your story?"

"That," I said, "is far too long and there's not enough Vodka to get me through it." She seemed to understand my reluctance to delve into the past.

"Okay, then tell me why you want to learn about the world out there?"

"Like I said, I need to know what's going on. I might be here, but how can I help you guys if I don't understand even the basics of what you're in the middle of. I can't be effective if I keep myself in the dark."

"Done pretty well so far."

"But I could do better."

My brain buzzed, nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the new information. It was barely a scratch on the surface of what she knew, but it was a start.

Regardless of what else I might want to achieve, this was my life now. Rooted to one spot while conducting affairs in the skies. To run it, to succeed, I needed to be what I always strived for.

The best.

* * *

**20 May 2019**

Hi Tom,

So, I've joined a book club.

Don't ask me why, it just sort of happened.

Probably because I wanted to know what Korg thought of Animal Farm once he'd actually read it. I got what I wanted in just the subject line of his email. _Animal Farm: Not so cute_.

Bruce is part of it too, said he'd missed Korg and Miek in the chaos of everything that happened. He says it's good to have something to focus on when his brain hits a wall and he just can't get any further. I have to agree with him.

The next book is _The Once and Future King_ because, and I quote 'it sounded like it should be about my buddy Thor, but then I saw the first part is called _The Sword in the Stone_ and it made me think it might be a thriller. Could be fun. Let's find out.'

I've already read it, back during the great reading frenzy of the first years of my defection. So I decided to clear my mind by bothering Rocket with a few racoon memes.

He sent back a picture of himself banging his head against the table with the caption: When you're genetically engineered but your a-hole creator leaves you to float in the middle of space without any explanation and the only mail you get is from some woman on a shitty planet.

And so we've started a bit of an email war.

Making my inbox a lighter place to be.


	30. Chapter 30

**1 June 2019**

Hey Tom,

It amazes me how difficult it is to get back to normal after everything you think you know is turned upside down.

Of course, it happened with Thanos. And a year after that we're just coping. Not living. You can't call it that. We existed, we survived. But the broken pieces were still broken pieces, the jagged edges just weren't as sharp as they once were.

Then on the anniversary there was the whole Clint thing. I still feel like I'm displaced from myself. That the world I'm in isn't real. I do what I can to get things back to normal. To forget about the killings.

But it's tough. So tough. And I'm not sure what's wrong with me. Compartmentalising was always a specialty. But it feels like all the compartments are starting to flow into one another. Like my head is going to burst. Or my heart.

I'm not sure.

I suppose I should say there hasn't been another attack. No grizzly murder scenes with the ghost of Clint hanging over us.

No more leads to follow. All we can do is sit and wait for the next one. Which is fucked up. Waiting for him to murder more people so we can bring him back to try and coddle him into the person he used to be.

I didn't delude myself. He hadn't put the brakes on because I managed to knock some sense into him. Or even because he was hesitant of bringing the Avengers down on him. He was stuck in his grief. It overwhelmed his bloodlust.

Where was he going to strike next? I'm sure even he doesn't know.

These thoughts don't get me anywhere. I still had a charity to help run. I team to keep together. An impossible dream to achieve. And achieving it might actually be the answer I was looking for to the Ronin problem.

So I try and do normal things.

Like talk to Carol.

She's back in space. Walking the beat. Helping those in need. Teaching me about the wider universe as she glides unseen through the stars. A lot of what she has to teach is rooted in things that have happened to her on her travels. Which is fine. It helps me to relate.

Like join Bruce in his lab.

He's calm and I need calming. I don't bother him. Just sit and work through the unexciting parts of my job. Sometimes he talks to himself, almost playing two sides of an argument. When that happens I've learnt it's best to sneak up and ask him a question. As he talks me through it he seems to have a revelation about what he was having trouble with before. The light in his eyes as it clicks together, I don't think I could ever get tired of seeing that.

Like sparring with Steve in the gym.

You might think those would be more one-sided in his favour than they actually are. But, as I've been told many a time, everything's a weapon even your opponent's own strength. Turns out joint gym sessions are more productive; having the other person there to talk to keeps me from slipping into the rabbit hole of my past and everything I could have done differently to avoid the current situation.

Like video calls with Pepper and Morgan.

Tiny Stark has already grown into a bit of a handful, but her mother couldn't look happier. The calls are noisy and interrupted by cries or gabbling. But rather than be annoying they're sounds that fill the compound with life. And I can tell from how free Pepper looks that those laughs and gurgles and giggles have given Tony a strength he was missing since coming back from space. He even said last month was one of the best birthdays he ever had.

Like emailing Rocket.

We still send stupid jokes to each other but we talk about proper stuff too. Not often, and not in so many words. But it's there and I know it's because he misses the other Guardians. He's not sure how to talk to Nebula, saying one of the things about being the only one like him is that he doesn't know what it's like to lose a sibling and doesn't know how to reach out to her. Again, not in so many words but it's there if I use a microscope to read between the lines.

Like holo-calls with Rhodey, Okoye and Nebula.

All people of so few words yet none of us quite seem willing to hang up on our calls. All with other things to do but the chat is like a lifeline. Also looking for a strand of normality in a very un-normal world.

Like trying to contact Thor.

Who never answers.

* * *

**6 June 2019**

Hi Tom,

I realise I haven't written about Sam often.

Which is dumb because I consider him a friend. Even if he is a pile of dust with wings.

I don't know I guess it's just hard to accept he's gone. Which is also dumb, because it's been over a year.

I never saw him go. Never saw the evidence. And I think the lack of visual proof in my memories makes him more solid.

Even though I know better I still expect him to charge through the door with some stupid comment ready to fall off his lips.

We spent a long time fighting side by side, as Avengers and as fugitives. And though the life he got wasn't the one he signed up for, his belief never wavered.

And he spoke a lot, about the meetings he ran when he got back from tour, about the people he helped as they came through the VA. We would always listen. Amazed at his ability to empathise with whatever situation was put before him. At how he always found a way to help people.

It was one of the many things Steve admired about him.

And something I think both of us missed. Along with the cautionary tales and lame jokes.

So, when Steve told me he'd been looking into meetings for survivors of the snap, my only surprise was that it hadn't come sooner.

There were a few in the city. None of them well-known. None particularly successful because how do you talk about this sort of crap. Do you tackle it from the angle of survivor's guilt or PTSD? Or do you just talk and share and take it one meeting at a time as everyone had to take it all one day at a time?

All things he asked me, as if I knew anything more than he did.

He's going to start going to them. See how it works. If it helps.

At the very least, he said, it's a way for him to get out of the compound. Then he asked me if I wanted to join him.

When every time I step out more shit finds its way into the fan.

No, thank you.

* * *

**12 June 2019**

At last, Tom!

Breaking news from the space frontier.

Okay, so it's sort of been breaking for the past several weeks but I didn't want to bore you, or myself, with the details.

They made it to the planet; an intensely private one shrouded in clouds, which smothered storms, which bothered the surface on an almost constant basis, which the locals didn't mind because the pelting rain and harsh wind was soothing to their skin - according to Nebula when they first arrived.

She took over comms when there was something to report, for which I was grateful. She didn't spend half the time muttering under her breath or throwing insults at people who weren't even there.

They spent an hour locating who they were after. The thing about hiding in an intensely private neighbourhood is the neighbours sure as hell knew everyone else's business. If someone wasn't from there then they found out everything they could. To which Nebula could attest when they were directed to a hovel on the outskirts of a town full of hovels. It was only when they went there, found it was empty and traipsed all the way back (the air thick with Rocket's complaints of idiotic meat-sacks with rattling skulls instead of brains) that they were told he was visiting the next planet over.

Cue a discussion about whether they should lay in wait or hotfoot it over in case they could catch up to him there.

They hotfooted it; neither liked the weather.

Didn't take long to get there. But the search on planet number two was longer than either expected. They were about to give up and go back to 'the stormy shithole' (give you a guess where that name came from) when luck fell in their favour. Their quarry happened to be visiting the bar they stopped off at on the way back to the ship.

Though, they didn't consider themselves all that lucky when it turned out their quarry was a Dark Elf.

Now, I heard Thor mention something about them back when we were hunting down leftover Hydra cells. And Carol's covered them in her lessons. Both were pretty certain that the race was on the brink of extinction, if it hadn't already fallen over it.

"Could be a Skrull," Rocket said, shuffling around in his hologram, shooting glances at their new passenger, "just saying maybe we should go a few rounds with him to make sure."

I looked at the two of them, Rocket and Nebula, isolated throughout life in their own ways, and realised their capacity for playing good cop might not be enough for the mission.

"I'd rather you didn't beat him about," I said, "attack only if you're attacked first."

"Geez, on the other side of the galaxy and you're still managing to suck away our fun."

"Uhhh, Nebula," I said, not sure if Rocket was listening.

"I will ensure he is not harmed while in our care, Agent Romanoff."

"Thank you. Any idea what he knows?"

They didn't. He kept his knowledge hidden and promised to take them to it.

"And, uh, what happens if he leads us into a trap. Do we just sit and take it or do we blow him into the sky?" Rocket said. "If we're taking a vote I like the second option, you know, on account of not wanting to die."

"Fight back," I said, "does he know who Captain Marvel is?"

I listened as Rocket scurried away and heard muttering as he asked the question and got his answer.

"Yes. Doesn't seem to be a fan."

"Oh good, then tell him that if anything happens to the two of you, Captain Marvel will personally hunt him down across the universe until she puts him in his grave."

"I like the way you think," Rocket said and gave a smile that made me glad we were on the same side.

"Let me know as soon as you can," I said and signed off.

* * *

**13 June 2019**

As soon as they could happened to be at three in the morning. Give or take a few minutes.

I was just pleased to have something to do other than stare at the ceiling.

And there was also some satisfaction in having something to add to another of my Infinity Folders, because the Dark Elf knew a thing or two about the Reality Stone. Only he kept calling it the Aether and I realised it was the thing that caused all that chaos in London a few years back.

For a backwater, Earth did attract a lot of power.

Rocket was subdued as he related it back to me. Nebula too, who couldn't bring herself say anything. It clicked into place when they said the Stone was given to the care of The Collector, who had once resided in Knowhere.

Which, I knew from Carol, was destroyed by Thanos when he went to pick it up. This was the reason the Guardians had split up. The reason Gamora was captured and placed on the path to her death.

Reality often sucks. But it didn't have to suck as much as this.

I thanked them, told them to take some time to rest.

Though they don't strike me as people who like to rest.

* * *

**19 June 2019**

Hey Tom,

Bruce isn't around so much anymore.

I think he's trying to get used to his new lodgings. It's still empty, Bruce still adamant that they need to wait until after he's transformed before filling the place up with stuff.

It's always a bit unexpected to walk into the kitchen and find him there. But he was this morning, a smile on his lips as he read the paper, eyes moving slowly as he took his time over each story.

He put it down as soon as he realised I was there.

"Can't see anything about Clint," he said, "that's got to be good."

"Yeah, he's been inactive for a while," I said when I joined him at the table with a cup of coffee in my hands, glad to no longer be a victim of Steve's smoothie making.

"Think he's stopped for good?"

I shook my head.

As conversations go, this wasn't one I was keen to have at any time, let alone at the start of the day. Not that I would tell Bruce that. He took too many things to heart.

"How's all the lab work going?" I said instead.

"Yeah, good. I'm on track. Still finalising everything, reducing the risk of catastrophic mistakes as much as I can. I uh, I reckon October, you know. For the change."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

It felt weird, having a countdown. A deadline for when the gentle man in front of me would become a, hopefully, gentle Hulk. Not that the Hulk couldn't be gentle when he wanted to, it just wasn't a natural part of him. Most people were still scared of him, hell there was a part of me that would never forget the chase through the helicarrier. But I spent more time with the Hulk than most, working on the lullaby.

He wasn't all bad.

Actually, he wasn't even a lot bad. He just reacted to the world around him, which never reacted well to _him_.

"Do you still feel him," I asked.

"Yeah, he's still there. But he just doesn't want to come out. It's like a toddler having a tantrum, except with more patience."

I laughed.

"Actually," Bruce continued, "he's aware of what I'm doing. I can feel him paying attention to the work. He's good at keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself but I think he's onboard. It's weird, sometimes there's a thought that obviously isn't mine and I spent a while ignoring them, until I realised he's helping."

"Well that's different."

"I know," he ran a thumb along the crease in the paper, "It's the most we've ever communicated."

"It's the right thing Bruce," I said, "you're on the right path."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I bit my tongue, feeling that he wanted to spend some time with that thought.

And that's fine because I had my own vying for attention. A mini sort of revelation as I spend breakfast talking to my housemate about his impending future as a giant green creature.

A mini sort of revelation that said I'm trying so hard to find something normal that I'm blinded to the fact none of the things I've distracted myself with are.

No part of my life is normal.

And it's always been that way.

So maybe, in a weird way, that's the most normal thing I can ask for.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:**

**Chadwick Boseman was an amazing actor and embodied T'challa in a way no one else could have. He believed in that character and his story and helped drive Black Panther to become one of Marvel's masterpieces. And, more important than all of that, he was a good person. From all the stories that have been told about him since he passed, that much is obvious. He cared for others and their lives while he was fighting one of the toughest battles there is to fight. To suffer in silence and still shine so bright, that takes someone special. T'challa doesn't feature in this story but he still has an impact as an example for Okoye to hold herself to. Just as Chadwick Boseman didn't feature in many of our lives but he should still be an example for us to hold ourselves to. Even in our pain be strong, be kind, be generous, and keep on changing the world for the better. Just like him.**

**My thoughts are with his family and friends.**

**RIP Chadwick Boseman.**

* * *

**4 July 2019**

The Red Room.

It's insidious. I hate it. It's followed me wherever I go, no matter what I do. And now, even in the murk of this half-life, it floats on my peripheral just out of reach. Slipping into my thoughts and dreams and writing.

I feel you were supposed to be an escape from all of that, Tom. Somewhere to put the thoughts I needed to make sense of. A way to steer through all of it. And yet I've noticed the Red Room keeps coming up. Time after time, entry after entry, it's there.

And this one isn't any different because yet another thing has brought it to mind. Or keeps bringing it to mind.

Birthdays.

It would have been a taboo subject if we ever acknowledged them. After all, why celebrate being born into a life that lead to where we were? Birthdays didn't apply to us. People outside the programme celebrated. People outside the programme blew out candles and ate their cake and revelled in an achievement that wasn't their own.

Inside the programme none of that happened. Inside the programme we weren't even sure if the birth date they gave us was true or false. They hollowed us of everything individual when we joined. Hacked everything to pieces until we were carved into something they could work with. They destabilised us, destroyed everything we knew, disrupted everything they could and whatever they gave us in return was tainted by their touch. Even the basics. All in the name for more control over us, because that's all the Red Room craved. So when they told us what our birthdays were we had no choice but to believe them.

My first birthday after I joined Shield I almost broke Clint's neck. The date was in my records but I told no one. Of course I worked in an organisation full of spies. One of them was bound to go digging.

Just my luck it had to be my spy.

He came into the Shield gym, empty except for me because only a select few would be seen dead training with me; one of them was the boss, two were hip-deep in the paperwork that would let a former enemy loose on the field, and the last thought it was a good idea to sneak up on me, while I was otherwise preoccupied, and cover my eyes.

Clint gave me those wide eyes and a hurt expression. The face he often used when he tried to make someone (usually me) feel guilty. I remember I always thought his humour was a mask; one that would fall along with the illusion of me making amends and I would see the horrors similar to those I left in Russia.

Still on the mat, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up between his fingers. He watched as I calmed myself down and urged me to take the paper. I unfolded it to find a signed and dated form. A pass for the day. Freedom at my fingertips; as long as I was accompanied by the man who handed it to me.

"Happy birthday," he said and it was the first time I remember hearing the words. I wondered if my parents ever said them to me. If they ever had a chance. My life before the Red Room was a void.

"I don't celebrate," I said. But I didn't give back the paper. I clutched it; confused and hopeful and above all curious to see what lay beyond the walls of HQ.

"Well, now you do."

I don't have anything like that for Steve. No get out of jail free card, no break to offer from everything that circled us. But I did have eggs, flour, sugar, flavouring, food colouring, sparklers, and some rusty baking skills to dust off. There was nothing to make the situation better and every birthday celebrated under these conditions was like several knives to the heart. But cake was cake, no matter what was happening.

He turned up after a long walk, still ruminating on the meeting he attended yesterday. The kitchen was bathed in sunlight, which glinted off every available surface. I was glad I decided to confine my baking adventure to the kitchen in my quarters. So, instead of lamenting the mess I created, he stood in the doorway and smiled at the red, white and blue layered cake sitting on the dining table.

"Nat-"

"Wait for it," I said, "you haven't seen the best part yet." I struck a match and lit the sparklers stuck proudly in the cake. He laughed and it echoed around the room as the makeshift candles sputtered and sparked.

"What's this for?"

"Depends what you're in the mood for celebrating," I said, "either you turning a year older or your country."

"And if I'm not in the mood for celebrating?"

I shrugged.

"Then I guess I was just in the mood for a snack with some pizzazz."

He stepped forward and grabbed the knife I placed next to it, I stuck the sparklers in the sink. He handed me a plate. "To turning another year older."

"Happy birthday Steve."

He tapped his cheek and pointed at me. "You have a little something right there."

* * *

**7 July 2019**

Hi Tom,

The more I read about these stones the more I understand that we never stood a chance against Thanos.

Not really.

Not the Guardians on Knowhere when he had three stones. Not Tony and Co on Titan when he had four of them. And not the rest of us on Earth when he was one away from a complete set.

How could we ever fight that type of power?

I'm going through the files from the Dark Elf, all the information he gave up after a few threats from a growling racoon. And the power of the Reality Stone is almost beyond comprehension.

It's all there for those who know how to look. Records and rumours scattered across history, all vague and blurry and needing a good eye to see what they had to say. Just as much information in the lines as between them.

In short, it makes the unbelievable believable, whether it's small scale or large. It creates reality from nothing then bends it to its user's will. Even without the info from the Dark Elf we had aerial footage from London all those years ago, and eyewitness accounts from Tony and Nebula to prove it.

But there was more to it. As well as creating whole realities it made them so believable that the illusions were solid, the people within them as real as the people in ours. It transformed people and items and worlds and everything that exists.

Imagine having that to protect you, to incapacitate your enemies without them even realising. The Reality Stone offers the user so much. Even the ability to heal when used with another stone. And, of course, it was indestructible, its demise only possible the way Thanos had caused it.

That was one stone. Of six. And we dared to take it on. To think we could win.

I had no doubt it was this one that created the cage of stone that trapped me against the ground.

And it makes my skin crawl.

Of all the stones this one concerns me most. My reality has been altered and shattered and stitched together more times than I can count. Memories planted in my head. Beliefs and trust and a blind patriotism fertilised by their lies and the way they framed the reality they wanted us to consume.

I take comfort in things that are as they seem. Knowing they are steady and real. Ironic, I know, considering my lifestyle, but it's true. And the thought that they could be fabricated so easily.

Well, it's a nightmare.

One I try to push to the side and out of mind. I have enough nightmares haunting me without this one squirming its way into my head.

Yet, despite all of this. Despite its fearsome power and the danger it poses. I can't help but think what I wouldn't give to have it in my hands and be able to create a reality where Thanos never happened.

* * *

**19 July 2019**

Hi Tom,

When Captain America first turned up in the forties it was to a lot of fanfare and celebration. He was a symbol of hope to a nation caught under the thumb of war. Everything he did was applauded, whether it was entertainment (okay, so maybe on the Front he went unappreciated but back home the papers were generous with their praise) or conflict.

Throughout the years there were secret heroes, not given the credit they were due. Like the Pyms who saved the world on the down low, and of course Danvers, whose transformation into Captain Marvel was kept confidential. No one reported on them, no one celebrated them. No one knew them.

Then came Ironman. Making a splash across all the front pages and news outlets in the biggest way. Another hero who had applause follow him everywhere. Until property was damaged and people's lives were put at risk with the Stark/Stane battle in the middle of a busy road in the middle of a heavily populated city. And just a couple of years later his Expo was attacked.

And Bruce was exposed to radiation in the lab and rather than dying a gruesome death he developed another personality. A personality that saw everything as a threat and destroyed without discretion.

Then Thor was banished to Earth with no concept of our ways or our limited knowledge of the worlds around us. Followed here by his brother's misguided desire to rule and was forced to fight an Asgardian destroyer that almost levelled a town.

And the Avengers came together for the first time and defended the planet against an invading force. Led by the same god who attacked Thor but this time hyped up on whatever Thanos had done to him.

We saved people, we limited the damage where we could, acted as fast as possible, learnt how to fight a threat we'd never heard of. All to keep the planet safe.

After the relief of survival faded we were vilified. Our existence questioned. Blamed for the deaths of those Loki and his army claimed. And of those caught up in the crossfire. All discussions that followed us through whatever we did, that turned people against us, that led to hate groups and hate mail and just plain old hating. Polls that tested our popularity while detesting us.

And I can't say we haven't always deserved it. We always tried our best, we never wanted people to get hurt as a result. But we should have been smarter about it. The Iron Legion wasn't always there and when we introduced them they became a symbol of the things plenty of people hated about us.

It was a surprise when none of those stories or conversations did the rounds in light of Thanos.

And it was even more of a surprise when the Quinjet landed this morning and everyone onboard was excited, happy even, to be at the compound. To be in the presence of the Avengers. To meet their heroes.

They were all from the WOOPS facilities. The winners of one of the Christmas competitions.

I knew they were coming. Pepper set the date in my calendar as soon as it was finalised. Then set reminders for two weeks beforehand, then one week, and every day since. It was also hard to ignore the improvements made around the building and grounds. I almost hunted Tony down so I could use him as a punching bag when the gym was cordoned off.

Life, for the past few weeks, was a constant reminder of what loomed ahead. Of another thing to dread.

Until the kids and their chaperones stepped down from the jet and the looks on their faces were something I could never forget. Nor was the slight twinge of pride I felt at being part of a team that they could look up to. It was a reminder I didn't know I needed.

The work we did was good. Necessary.

It always would be.

And there would always be haters, but there was every chance they were alive to hate because we saved them.

It was only supposed to be one kid, their plus one and a chaperone. But the decision was more difficult than we anticipated so we opened it to three of each. Nine visitors in total.

Nine visitors who shook our hands and stumbled over their words, whose eyes widened when they met Steve, who took a step back when they realised I was the Black Widow. Nine people who walked through the compound doors and jumped at Friday's voice. Who explored our home and pointed excitedly at Bruce when he stumbled upon our little party. Nine pairs of eyes widened in awe when I showed them the pictures of space I'd collected from our recon and called Carol, Rocket and Nebula, who all happened to be in the same place for once. Nine people who weren't sure what to do when Okoye called in and I introduced her as the leader of Wakanda. Nine people who fawned over Rhodey's suit and played with Friday and filled the halls with laughter. Who looked like Christmas had come early when we took them to the armoury stuffed full of all our old gear.

Nine people with a lot of questions that flew at us in broken English or their native languages.

"Where's Thor?"

"Could The Falcon talk to birds?"

"How did you beat the robots?"

"What's it like living here?"

"Is it true the organisation was your idea?"

The last question, aimed at me, proved effective in stopping all conversation. I felt Pepper's eyes on me as I processed the thought of being the subject of idle gossip that wasn't bad.

"It was a joint idea," I said.

"Thank you," the kid said, "from everyone in our homes. We- we don't know what would have happened to us."

It was a tender moment. An innocent one. A rare thing hidden between the harsh realities of life that so often kept us down. We hadn't had anything like that in a while. Then it was ruined by Friday alerting us to an incident outside of New York.

"Rhodey," I said.

"On it."

"Steve, take the jet and go with him, intel suggests it'll need two of you."

And just like that the day I was dreading ended, and I felt the smallest pang of regret. The kids looked sad, but it wouldn't last long. To make the most of their time abroad we'd sprung for an all expenses paid trip to New York, centred around the visit to Stark Industries' head office.

Life was going to be difficult for those kids. There was no way of knowing what the years ahead held for them. At least we were able to provide something nice. A bit of peace in their tumultuous world.

At least, given everything they'd been through, they had the capacity to love instead of hate.

* * *

**26 July 2019**

Hey Tom,

We're pretty secluded here in the compound. It's separated from the city. A lesson learned from Avengers Tower. Civilians were put at risk from the debris that fell to the ground below when we were attacked there (as well as by whatever was doing the attacking). Tony figured if we were away from the general populace then our mere presence was less likely to put them in danger.

The compound itself was surrounded by a lot of land and that, in turn, was surrounded by a lot of trees and water. There was only the one road in and Friday kept an eye on the airspace as well as the perimeter and, because Tony was paranoid (something I encouraged because there really is no such thing as too careful), the ground beneath. You never know when someone might use the sewers or tunnel their way in - and given the amount of enhanced people appearing I wouldn't be surprised if a Moleman turned up.

So when Okoye landed on our doorstep I was more than a little taken aback.

"Surprised?" She said with an arch of her eyebrow. There were two guards with her, neither wearing the traditional Wakandan garb of their position, but rather loose fitting clothes that allowed them to blend with Western society as well as kick some serious ass should the opportunity present itself.

As soon as Friday told me our guests were here I ran outside to see for myself, a couple of knives tucked away in my jacket and a loaded gun in hand - just in case they weren't who Friday thought they were. Of course, the guards didn't take well to the sight of an armed me approaching them.

"Disappointed," I said, flicking the safety back on and holstering the gun, "Friday didn't notice your approach." I eyed the aircraft behind them, the sleek design leaps and bounds ahead of the Quinjet.

"Ah, yes. Shuri did her job well. There isn't anything outside of Wakanda advanced enough to track our crafts." She gave me a one armed hug and her guards narrowed their eyes when I reciprocated. "I will send blueprints to Stark. If another usurper were to take the throne the Avengers would be the only other people capable of taking them down, and it wouldn't do for our second line of defence to be undermined by their inferior technology."

"I wouldn't use those exact words with him," I said as we walked to the compound, "his suit might be made of iron but his ego isn't."

She laughed and it sounded as if it'd been a while since she allowed herself to. The doors opened to let us in and the almost silence of the compound enveloped us. The humid air of late afternoon was replaced with the comfort of an AI-controlled coolness.

"What brings you to our neck of the woods?" I asked, trying to remember the state of my working space.

"The Wakandan International Outreach Centre. The loss of T'challa was risk enough to its continued existence, but Shuri and Nakia as well. I worry for its future. There are still those back home opposed to the king's decision about revealing the true nature of Wakanda."

"It's not as if you can take it back," I said, "withdrawing support and closing down the outreach programme won't change that."

"If they won't listen to me," she said, "they won't listen to an outsider. I'm doing what I can to keep it going, but no one else can match Shuri's intellect. What took her weeks to deliver will take the remaining R&D team years. It is grinding to a halt and there's nothing to kick start it again. And Nakia's Social Outreach department can't agree what to do."

We turned into the living area I worked from and I was more than a little relieved to see it was presentable. My uneaten lunch still sat on my desk, along with a cold cup of coffee. Before I could say anything Friday launched a graphic I hadn't seen before.

"Captain Danvers would like you to know she's visiting this planet," the Irish lilt danced from the unseen speakers. The graphic was of a planet that looked like plenty of others. The display came with the email from Carol, complete with an abridged history as part of my lessons. The name and coordinates hovered to the right of the hulking figure, just in case anything went wrong and I needed to send the remaining Guardians after her.

"You work with this every day?" Rather than take a seat on the sofa, Okoye stepped forward to study the image in front of her. She grew up in the most technologically advanced country on the planet, I didn't expect anything here to impress her. But the view of a world beyond the ones we knew of in our solar system gave her pause. Her guards too.

"Yeah."

"With just three people?"

"It helps that one of those people is Danvers."

"Even so, I would rather my position in this new order than yours. At least all my problems are on the same planet." At last she took a seat on the sofa and relaxed into the comfort it offered. Her guards remained standing, though Friday kept an eye on everything I knew how important it was not to let anything interrupt your focus. They were intent on keeping Okoye safe and while I meant no harm, that didn't mean there wasn't someone else out there scoping the compound from afar.

I tapped a reply to Carol and took up my chair behind my desk. I may have a guest, and she may be the leader of an ally country, but I still had work to do.

"Your outreach problem," I said after a few minutes, "as long as they focus on what can be used to address the world's current issues, it doesn't matter that new tech isn't delivered as fast as normal. You're so used to all the technology you have it might be easy to forget that most people in the world have never seen anything like your most basic equipment. There are things happening in the world, and you may find Shuri has already provided the solution. Removing that programme from the world isn't an option."

One of the guards stepped forward, placing herself in between us so I couldn't see Okoye. "The governing of Wakanda does not concern you."

I looked at her, aware I was walking a thin line but forged onwards anyway. "I may have been on the run when it was launched, but even I can tell the positive impact the outreach centre has on the world. If it shuts down there'll be a lot of people who'll feel like you've given up on them, just like the rest of the world."

"And they won't like Wakanda very much," Okoye shifted to a different position on the sofa so she could see me, the guard wasn't impressed, the former general stared her down before continuing, "that could work. The actions of Erik Stevens is still fresh enough to sway those on the Tribal Council that need swaying. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I have no doubt you did," I said, "sometimes it's easier to accept your own ideas from...outsiders."

"Hey Nat," Steve called from down the hallway, "have you seen the aircraft out front? Oh, hi." He stopped short at the sight of the three warriors, two of whom were pointing spears at him.

"Stand down," Okoye said. "Hello Captain Rogers."

"Uh, hi. Again. This is unexpected, General."

"I had business in the area, well, in America, and was hoping we could spend the night here. As soon as I land I will be forced into meetings and I would like a good night's sleep beforehand."

"You're all more than welcome," he said, "Bruce and I were just talking about dinner. Given last night's disaster we thought we should order pizza." As he spoke he went from looking at Okoye to looking at me. Though, there was a moment his eyes flickered to my full plate and I thought he might make a fuss. "Of course, if our guests don't object."

Okoye nodded. She'd spoken to me once about the difference in food between our continents. She didn't hate ours but she did prefer what Wakanda had to offer; altogether more vibrant with flavour and not dulled by the grease that plagued our food.

"Great, I'll go collect," Steve said.

"I will join you," one of the guards stepped forward, "to make sure they do not tamper with our food."

Okoye rolled her eyes as the two of them left the room. "She's enthusiastic, I'll give her that." I laughed.

"One good thing about Wakanda opening up to the world," I said, "you can invest in a takeout chain that specialises in your cuisine."

"That," the general said, "is something for the Social Outreach Department."


	32. Chapter 32

Scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Laura faltered to a halt and joined everyone else in the room looking around for the source of the noise. Lila yelped and scrambled up to tear Liho away from the back of the sofa she was destroying.

"No you don't," she whispered as the cat gave an undignified mewl and looked far from pleased at being manhandled.

Wanda laughed and everyone looked at her.

"Sorry," she said and her cheeks reddened, "but that's the exact look Nat used whenever someone did something stupid.

"You think the cat got it from her or the other way round?" Maria asked, a slight grin on her face.

And with that interruption it was decided lunch was in order and everyone disbanded. While Clint's stomach was pleased, judging by the loud rumble at the mention of food, the rest of him felt on edge. He'd featured heavily in the last few entries and he wasn't sure if he was in the mood to answer the questions bound to come his way.

He knew he and Nat had seen each other around the time of the anniversary but he didn't remember much beyond waking up on the kitchen floor with a familiar headache, and a vague blurry impression of his best friend ignited by the fire that drove her. And if he could barely remember that then he definitely knew nothing about the meeting she held to make sure he stayed an Avenger only problem.

While Laura was reading that particular part, Steve shot him an apologetic look. Clint just shrugged. He couldn't blame the guy, in fact he fell pretty hard on Steve's side. He had to pay for what he did.

But then a horrible thought occurred to him as he looked at his incomplete family. Perhaps he had paid.

_Well_, he thought to himself, _that thought isn't going to help me get up in the mornings_.

He followed Laura into the kitchen, who spent some time rummaging through the cupboards and fridge.

"I'm gonna need you to pop to the store tomorrow, hun. We're running out of, well out of everything."

"Not a problem," Clint said before he came up behind her and kissed the top of her head. "Do you need help in here?"

"Nope," she said, "and if I did I'd ask the kids first. You and anything kitchen related don't mix."

"Agree to disagree," he patted her on the shoulder and headed for the back door, "me and food mix real good."

The day was still fresh and everything about it was crisp. The sunlight that settled on him and the breeze that washed over him were a nice change from the stuffy living room. On any normal day it was a large enough space for him and his family, but add all their guests to the mix and things became a little uncomfortable

He enjoyed it so much that he didn't notice he had company on the stoop at first. To his right stood Wanda, mindless rivulets of red trailing between and around her fingers. She stood with her back to him as she faced the trees. Birds wheeled and danced around the tips of them and it struck Clint how different that sight was to both of them. He was glad to see so many birds all in one place again, he remembered how stark and silent the days were without them, all over the world. And yet Wanda would never know what that world was like. This was a normal sight for her. Almost as if nothing happened.

"Sometimes I think I'm cursed," she said from nowhere, making Clint jump slightly, "these powers, they feel that way. Do you believe in curses?"

Clint stepped up to her and resisted the urge to pull her into a hug. He wasn't quite sure what to do, it was well documented in the very journals they were reading that he wasn't good at dealing with grief. If he couldn't manage his own how could he be expected to help with someone else's?

"I'm no expert on them," he said, "think that's more up that Doctor Weird guy's street."

"But do you believe in them?"

He thought the question through. There were plenty of things he never believed in that ended up being true. Gods, aliens, magic. Though he always had a feeling homicidal robots would be a thing.

"No," he said, "but in this world that doesn't mean anything."

"I do," she said, "though maybe I was cursed before I got my powers. My parents - that whole ordeal - wasn't exactly typical. But Peitro, Viz - I just feel that if I didn't have these," she held her hands palm up so they staged an impressive show of twisting scarlet, "they'd still be alive."

"I'm pretty sure I saw Thanos crap himself when he took you on, Wanda. He faced down an army of our best and brightest, and you were the only one who scared him. I might not know anything about curses, but I do know those powers of yours aren't one. He decimated his troops to beat you. We couldn't have won without you. And if we hadn't have won, Vision and Peitro would have died in vain."

At some point she killed her powers and the red aura around her disappeared. It was hard to tell if the day was brighter or more dull without the light show.

"You are right," she said and her accent slipped into the cracks of her voice, "they did not die for no reason. But they are still dead."

"I wish I could say it gets easier," Clint said, thinking of Laura and the kids, "but I think it's more a case of you get used to it and find a way to carry on."

There was a moment between them that felt heavy and pivotal. A moment that belonged entirely to Wanda. But she didn't say anything. As it passed Clint wondered what it meant, he wondered what the future had in store for the woman stood beside him. But he didn't have much time to think about it because she arched an eyebrow and smirked in such a way there was only one person she could have learned it from.

"Look," he said, "I didn't claim to be an expert on dealing with grief either. Just don't do what I did and you should be fine."

* * *

**1 August 2019**

I'm worried about Steve.

He's whistles his way down the corridors.

Okay, so it's not quite on the same level as those incessant Christmas songs last year, but it's something. Though, I'm not sure what.

Perhaps I shouldn't be worried about him. Maybe I'm over thinking. I've been accused of that a few times.

But worry is my natural state. High alert my only setting.

It started when he began the meetings. The Post-Snap get togethers where people bare their souls to strangers. Where they sit and reminisce about all the things from life before and brace themselves for the difficulty of moving on. You know, because we live in a world where talking fixes everything.

Maybe that's where we went wrong. We shouldn't have tried fighting Thanos, we should have spoken to him.

Ever since his first meeting the slump in his shoulders has lessened. The fake smile is more neutral. The gentle passion that once flowed through him started to trickle again. He was not the Steve Rogers from before the Snap, but he _was_ a Steve Rogers I was more familiar with.

No longer so accepting of defeat, no longer willing to sit back and watch how things panned out. He was becoming more proactive again. He was filling the void within himself and how could I resent that? How can I be worried about that?

Tony has his family.

Bruce has his scientific self-improvement thing.

I had the Avengers and WOOPS.

If Steve didn't try to fill the void he'd end up like Thor. Or Clint.

Maybe I'm not worried about Steve.

Maybe I'm worried about what it means for me.

* * *

**12 August 2019**

The hiatus has ended, Tom.

Ronin is back in action.

Another attack, another city. Another mess to clean up.

Just a couple of hours ago I was enjoying the nightlife. You know, the silence of the compound as the early morning eeriness crept through it, the strange clarity with which my thoughts came and offered insight on my many projects.

And then Friday cut through all of that. The AI's voice out of place amongst the stillness.

"Director, there's been another incident."

Just like that, the course of my night was changed.

"When?" My voice cracked on the single word. Bruce was at his new place, doing whatever he needed to with his science and his formula to make sure it worked, while Steve came back from the city late and went straight to bed. My voice hadn't got much use today.

"The police had only just been alerted," Friday said, "they are on their way to the scene now."

"Where?"

"Philadelphia."

I swore. It was impossible to know if Clint was getting more erratic or if he followed someone there. Or if it was a tactical move on his part. The more law enforcement we had to 'work' with the more difficult it was gonna get.

"Have you alerted Rhodes?"

"Not yet Director, he just returned home from a mission and has been asleep for two hours and forty seven minutes. You were awake."

I swore again, then asked Friday to patch me through to him. If there was a choice I would have let him catch up on his sleep. The man just keeps on going. It doesn't matter what's cropped up where, he'll get to it. In the morning he's shutting down a bank robbery, in the afternoon he's in the middle of a meeting with some high ranking politicians and officials. But it was those same officials who wanted him on this case and any deviation would mean serious trouble for the Avengers.

"S'up," he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Afraid I'm gonna need you to be a bit more awake than that."

"Says the woman who never sleeps." He yawned and I had to stifle my own. "I've only been home three hours."

"Sorry Rhodey, duty calls."

"Funny, it sounds a lot like you. Alright, hang on." There was some stumbling on the other end of the line. He muttered a few things I pretended not to hear and poured himself some coffee.

"Some would say that's not the healthiest life choice."

"Stuff it Romanoff, it's past four in the morning."

"Never said I was one of those people," I let myself smile as he cursed, hoped just the act of it would be enough to calm the upheaval I felt within. "Our killer of killers is back. Friday just alerted me."

"Ugh, why couldn't he save it for the morning."

"Well-"

"Don't you dare tell me it _is_ the morning. It's that sort of smart-mouth comment I don't need right now." He took a gulp of his drink. There were thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head and I just wanted them to go away. I focused in the sound of his caffeine intake and the chill at my desk despite the earlier heat of the day. The slight lightening of the sky through the window enough for me to know it was a chill that would soon be burned away. "Is it at least in the city?"

"It's in a city," I said and sent him an email, "I've just forwarded you the details."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry again, Rhodey. Wish I could leave you to get more rest."

"We'll sleep when we're dead, right?" He sighed and I imagined he was rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks."

And he was gone. Back on another mission with little sleep.

And I was left alone to the silent emptiness of the compound around me, somehow trapped in the noisy confines of my head.

"Friday," I said, more to put off the shouted thoughts than anything else, "can you put together an analysis of all the attacks so far, please. See if there's anything we can learn from his pattern of attacks. Would be great if we can get ahead of him."

"On it."

"Email me the report once it's done. And can you email Steve, Tony and Bruce to let them know about the attack, please. I'd rather they didn't hear it on the news first."

"Sure thing, Director."

And then there was nothing left to distract me. At least not indoors, so I grabbed you and headed to the roof as fast as I could. But it was never fast enough to outrun the feelings that demanded I feel.

The ones I put off because I just don't know how to feel them. At least not properly. Not well enough to explain. I want to say I'm angry but it doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound big enough. I'm pissed, I'm fuming and furious and enraged. All of those things rolled into one massive temper ready to explode.

And still it's not enough.

Because I'm tired, too. Weary. Exhausted. So goddamn exhausted of everyone forgetting to use their brains. For kicking their common sense to the kerb like it's nothing but trash and expecting someone else to pick it up after them with little fuss.

I'm done with these little factions that have cropped up over such a long time; Team Ironman, Team Cap, Team I'll do Whatever the Fuck I Want Because I'm a Trained Assassin with a Sword.

Aren't we all on the same team? Isn't that what this whole crappy thing was supposed to be about?

Team Avengers.

But we've all splintered off and we keep splintering. And every time Clint kills a bunch of people the worse it'll get. Because this is too similar to the events that lead to our breakup to be ignored.

I'm doing my best to hold what's left of us together.

But I don't think it's enough anymore.

* * *

**14 August 2019**

Hey Tom,

The killer of killers is now officially called Ronin. It's been all over the news since Rhodey gave it to the interested parties, along with a story that we picked up chatter about the guy from our less than savoury contacts.

Friday's report was with me in a few minutes. I must have read it a thousand times already, looking for something that will tell me where he'll strike next. Even the AI can't predict his actions.

Not now, at least. I had to hope that one day we could. I had to believe that.

In other news, better news even, Pepper's sent everyone a video of Morgan trying to crawl. She hasn't quite got the hang of it yet but everyone involved is cheering her on and laughing. I've probably watched that a thousand times too.

* * *

**23 August 2019**

Hi Tom,

Today Pepper and I travelled to the far flung reaches of...Canada. The snow in winter reminds me of Russia, but the people are different.

Last time I was here I was making my way to an airfield post-mission. My weapons were slung into a duffel bag in the trunk, except for the dozen or so I hid about my person. My suit was chucked into the bag alongside them. No trace of blood but that didn't mean I hadn't just terminated a few problems.

My thoughts were about getting back to base; I'd won a bet with Clint and he needed to pay up. Then my treacherous car skidded into a snow bank. There was no lasting damage, to me at least - the rental car was a whole other matter. The first person to go speeding by doubled back on themselves. The guy who got out to help was kinda tubby, thinning hair on the top of his head, and what could only be described as a jovial face. All I kept thinking was 'if you knew who I was you'd run as fast as you could in the other direction."

I wonder if in the years since he'd put two and two together and figured out who I was.

I sighed.

"What's your problem," Pepper said from the co-pilot's seat. At first she'd opted to sit behind me and focus on the work she'd brought with her, but the view from up front in a Quinjet was better than what any tiny window on the side of a plane could offer, whether it was private or not. She soon laid her work to one side and joined me.

"Nothing," I said, "just breathing."

"It's the visit, isn't it? You don't want to do it. It'll be fine, trust me. Just follow my lead," she said. We were fulfilling the other half of our promise today, off to visit the facility we'd judged to have the best decorated communal area for Christmas. "It'll be a few hours, sure, but it'll mostly be shaking hands and hugging a few people."

I snorted. "I think you're the one who should worry about the hugging," I said and scanned the view in front of us, ever vigilant.

"You'd be surprised," she laughed, "that Black Widow reputation might not be what you think it is anymore."

I peeled my eyes away from the horizon and shot her a dark look. "You take that back."

She laughed again and watched as I adjusted some of the controls. Much like Tony, Pepper had a curious mind. Unlike Tony, she didn't use it as an excuse to be annoying.

"It never ceases to amaze me how many thing you can do, you know."

"Huh?"

"Well, it's like give you any task and you don't just do it, you ace it. How do you know how to do so much?"

"I learned it," I said.

"Oh, you know what I mean. I have a few years head start on you but I'm still pretty far behind, and I'm no slacker."

"You can do plenty of things I can't," I said.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like put up with Tony on an almost constant basis."

"That is true." And she laughed again. "But, I mean when you were at Stark Industries you were pretty well entrenched. You knew that job inside out. I spoke to your colleagues after you left and they were sad to see you go, said you were a diligent worker and you'd made yourself part of the team"

"That wasn't me, that was Natalie Rushman."

"Is there a difference?"

"I'd be a pretty bad spy if I just played myself with a different name." I spared her another look and she was still smiling. "Fitting in is part of the job description."

"But fitting in everywhere?"

"One of the perks of belonging nowhere, like Madam B said." The problem with Pepper Potts is that not only is she a perceptive woman, she's also someone it's easy to relax around. And when you relax you say things you shouldn't. And the aforementioned perceptiveness means she doesn't miss a damn thing.

"Who's Madam B?" She asked and I mentally kicked myself. I spent a few seconds thinking of an answer to get me out of answering but Pepper took it as a sign I didn't want to carry on with that route of the conversation.

"People asked me about you a lot when you were on the run, you know," she said and settled back into her seat, "the others too, but mainly you. Think they expected me to hate you because you switched sides at the last minute. They were always surprised when I said you were a friend.

"My secretary was one of them. You saved her life in 2012. She was in New York when the Chitari attacked. She and several other people were trapped in their cars. They watched as some of the aliens advanced on them, struggling to free themselves. Then you turned up and kicked, punched and blasted the Chitari away. It gave them enough time to break out and flee for the perimeter. Ever since she's believed in the Avengers and what they stood for. Even after Sokovia. She asked me about you not because she wanted me to hate you, but because she wanted to know she still had something believe in."

She paused and I knew there was more to the story but she wasn't quite delving into it just yet. So I sat in my chair, kept an eye on the flight path ahead, and felt confused.

"Why did you tell me that?" I asked at last.

"So you know that you do belong. Whatever this Madam B person said, you belong somewhere and it's always been with us. The Avengers and their supporting cast."

I didn't know what to say so opted to keep my mouth shut.

"She was with me last year, my secretary, when everything unfolded," Pepper said and her eyes were distant, "I learned a long time ago I don't like to be alone when Tony's off risking his life, so I went to the office. She was there as everything unravelled, when I phoned Tony, when reports came of a similar attack in Scotland, when you guys were seen coming back to America, when the violence in Wakanda broke out. And she was there when the Snap happened. Until she wasn't. I'll never forget the look in her eyes as she reached out to me with arms turning to ash."

There was a heavy silence in the wake of Pepper's words. So many people had similar stories and yet they never lost their horror. They never failed to send me back to that clearing in the trees with Vision's body and the ash of our teammates surrounding us.

"And I told you that so you know it's okay to share," she added.

I bit my tongue as the urge to blurt everything out pushed at me. No matter what she said I couldn't just become someone who found it easy to talk. But I could at least try, and I knew what she wanted.

"Madam B," I said, going slow, "was the person in charge of our...intensive education."

"And 'intensive education' means?"

"Training, seducing, killing," I said, "that was the Red Room way. Part of me is afraid that no matter how well we try to run these facilities, someone might take advantage of these children like the Red Room did us. And I can't be complicit in that."

This time silence followed my heavy words and I regretted speaking.

"We'll scrap our annual inspection policy and implement one for surprise inspections on a more regular basis." She caught me looking at her. "Your childhood is still a mystery to me but I know enough to know that no child should experience what you did, I can't be complicit in that either. These children deserve the best care we can give them."

I felt a little lighter, just a little. I wasn't sure if it was because she listened or because she had a solution or because the worry wasn't just my own.

I nodded. She didn't say anything but she did reach out and give my arm a brief squeeze.

"Better buckle up," I said, "we're about to land."

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys, I hope you're all doing well :)**

**So, about a week and a half ago this fic turned a year old! In all honesty I expected it to be finished by now but the idea just kept growing and growing. I'm sure there are times you can see evidence of the growing pains, but that's one of the things I've learned about my writing since starting this - must plan better, I mean here we are on chapter thirty two and we're still in 2019! Anyway, I struggled with this chapter but I hope you're still enjoying the story. For everyone who's stuck around since I first started this a year ago, thank you for your patience and for continuing to read. The fact that this story gets views every week astounds me, and every time there's a new favourite, follow or comment it amazes me how many people want to take the time out of their day to read what I've written. And on that note, to all the new follows and favourites, to everyone really, just a massive thank you for being with me on a journey I was nervous to take.**

**You're all amazing.**


	33. Chapter 33

**2 September 2019**

Hey Tom,

I have a theory.

It's not a good theory but it's still one nonetheless. And, as with all the other unwanted crap floating around my mind, I figured it best to put it down here. That way it might stop haunting me.

I think the people who disappeared were a strategic move. That perhaps it wasn't as random as Thanos liked us to believe. Without the people taken from us we can't possibly pose a threat to his vision of the universe.

Just think about it. Both Nick and Maria are gone. If this was all about balance at least one of them would have survived. Either or would have been a better choice to fill the shoes I'm currently wearing. They have experience in running a mass operation all about defending the world and gathering intelligence. Under their guidance the pitiful, almost grassroots, operation I have going on would flourish. Outposts on planets, new recruits gathered by Carol, Rocket and Nebula as they scout the galaxy. The Avengers and the Guardians growing by the day.

Yet here I am, struggling to keep hold of the ones I do have.

Thanos left Thor behind because he knew his failure was worse than death for him. He knew the responsibility of living when most of his people were dead would destroy him. When Thor arrived in Wakanda I'd never seen him so powerful, cutting swathes of our enemies down as lightening rippled through his very core. And it still hadn't done him any good. Power is useless if you're not willing to use it. And Thor was not willing.

And though Steve is still with us, though he was always our rallying point, he doesn't wear that burden well anymore. Thanos took Bucky and Sam from him and the futility of everything crushed Steve more than anything ever had before. After years of fighting, years of struggle, years of overcoming the odds, Steve saw the symbol of everything he fought for disappear when his best friend turned to ash. In the brief time Thanos fought Steve he measured the strength of his will and conviction and knew how to ruin him.

Wanda was one of the most powerful of all of us. She had the strength to destroy one of the Infinity Stones and hold the Titan back. Without her unique perspective on things, without _her_, we were hobbled.

Whittle the Avengers down by striking at their loved ones.

Take a man's family away and let him descend to madness. Watch the darkness consume him as he goes from hero to not-quite-villain. To something in between. From Clint to Ronin.

Take away the protégé but leave the wife-to-be and watch as another threat to the new natural order is neutralised while he seeks happiness in the face of the untold amounts of pain he harbours. So Ironman makes way for family man.

Leave a man to struggle against his successive failures; once as his stronger self and once as his smarter self. Distract him with that journey of self-discovery. It doesn't matter if he succeeds or not, the damage is already done. He already lost, and a victory in his lab won't bring anyone back.

That left two people. Two people he didn't need to bother with. Though we restarted the Avengers we were few and scattered and not enough. Rhodey and I drowning in the sheer amount of work that faced us. Cracking under the pressure from all sides; the super soldier without the will to fight, the assassin killing the wrong people, the god who isolated himself.

See Tom? It's all tactical.

Not only did he decimate the universal population, but he weakened us in such a way that it would be difficult to get back up and running at a capacity capable of fixing things.

I've fought a lot of people in my time, good guys and bad guys, but none so clever as him.

* * *

**6 September 2019**

Hey Tom,

Well, writing that down hasn't really helped. Now I just feel like I'm going crazy. That I'm a little_ too_ paranoid.

I just wish I knew what I was doing. I wish I knew what was going to happen next. I see people settling into this new normality and part of me just thinks 'c'mon Natasha, join them'.

But it's not in my nature to do what everyone else does.

Coulson was the first person to tell me that, you know. He said it was a good thing. That the world would be a boring and predictable place if everyone did the same thing. I said it would make my job a hell of a lot easier if they did.

He was a man who knew how to keep his cool. Sometimes in the depths of night I sit and think about what he would do if he was here, faced with this impossible turn of events. And just the presence of him in my mind soothes me. A reserved man, Coulson relied on his experience as much as he did instinct. He never ventured much into the field while I knew him - at least not the way Clint and I did - so his experience was more about the logistical. Not my favourite but I was no stranger to it.

So my thoughts went from him to my days throughout Shield. All that boring stuff I never gave much of a shit about while I was living through it. The briefings and debriefings, all of those wonderful logistics Coulson loved so much, the little snippets blasted into my ear whenever we had the luxury of remote support.

He was usually the voice on the other end of the line. That calming voice keeping us steady in the middle of whatever shit-storm we landed in. If it wasn't him it was Maria. Her hands were as safe as his. Her head as level as his. But her potential was so much more.

I don't think I've spoken about Maria much. But I owe her a lot. She might not have dealt with me day to day as Clint and Coulson, but when she was put on Russian watch duty she handled me her own way. The kindness of the two men was almost too much to bear. Going from a life with none to one with just a bit was smothering. I didn't trust it

To this day I don't know if Maria saw that or if it was just the way she was, but while she was one of the few who gave me the benefit of the doubt she didn't make life easy on me. And that was something I recognised. Something I was familiar with. Clint and Coulson helped me feel more human, but Maria was the reason I knew all of it was real and not just another of the lies the Red Room span. After a day spent with her it became easier to accept what the guys offered. Easier to trust them.

She was a logistical whizz too.

Sure, Nick ran a tight ship, but that was because he left her to take care of things while he kept all his secrets contained.

She should be the one sat here at the desk, you know. What I wrote the other day is true. She'd make something of this group. Under her leadership it'd be a force to be reckoned with.

But, I guess, I have what I have and I've done what I've done. It's up to me to make the most of it. I might not have Coulson and Maria with me in person, but I have my memories of them and the lessons they taught me.

Their expertise in one form or another.

* * *

**12 September 2019**

Hi Tom,

We had a mission. It didn't go to plan.

Well, it did. The plan just wasn't good enough.

It wasn't one we were reacting to, as so often seems the case lately. It was one we had plenty of time to prepare for, one that needed it because there were so many variables. But, you know, best laid plans and all that.

Rhodey and Steve raided a warehouse in the city. Slap bang in the middle of a heavily populated area. An arms dealer used it as a base of operations and our multiple surveillance jobs showed us it was as packed as an ant hill. Cronies crawled here, there and everywhere and cameras made sure they did so undisturbed.

We bandied about the idea of evacuating the area to keep civilians safe, but that would alert our prey to what was coming and there was a high probability they'd start attacking people in the streets to cause maximum chaos and increase their chances of getting some of their operation away. Not to mention without the element of surprise Steve and Rhodey didn't stand a chance.

I watched on the cameras as the events unfolded. They took out the guards they spotted and then Steve slipped inside. I hacked into their security system, which had the dual benefit of keeping an eye on him and keeping him off their radar. There were more people inside than we anticipated but it wasn't anything Steve couldn't handle. He continued his infiltration and took people out as he came across them, taking care to hide the unconscious bodies and tie their hands.

The mission was to take possession of the weapons and arrest the leaders and anyone else associated with them. And man did they have a lot of associates. Rhodey was keeping an eye on things outside, talking directly to the local police holding their positions. I had to send him in earlier than discussed. The police went with him and a long gun fight ensued.

Our surveillance had let us down. The fight had caused casualties. Officers in hospital with gunshot wounds. None of them fatal or life-changing. At least physically, you could never tell mentally. I've already wired money over to make sure they all got the best care. No civilians were caught in the crossfire, and that was something to be thankful for.

But Steve and Rhodey are in the living area, shouting at each other. Blaming each other. Neither of them take it well when something goes wrong and people are hurt. It's a personal affront to them. It tells them they're not good enough. That they did something wrong.

And because neither like that they tried to place the blame they had for themselves at each other's feet.

I've had to relocate to the roof.

Call me unprofessional if you want, but I may remind you it's also unprofessional to string your colleagues up to the ceiling by their ankles, and that's the impulse I had to walk away from.

We finished our debrief half an hour ago. One that showed with absolute clarity that there was nothing else we could have done. Even the government representative we had to dial in agreed the Avengers weren't at fault and we'd done a good job in getting those weapons off the street (and anyone who knows anything about the government knows that's about as rare as Nick Fury winking).

But that's not enough for those stubborn asses. No, they have to tear into one another instead.

No one ever gave Steve this shit when he was in charge.

Except maybe me.

In which case karma is biting me in the ass.

I'm leaving them to it, maybe they'll tire themselves out and we'll all get some peace. Oh, wait hang on.

Bruce is yelling now.

Something tells me I need to go and investigate. Wish me luck, Tom.

* * *

**13 September 2019**

Hey there Tom,

I made a massive mistake.

Since he announced he had a magic formula to bring him and the Hulk together, I've filed Bruce away as someone not to worry about.

I mean, he's looked like a man at peace. Never have I seen him so serene, so calm, so accepting of himself.

Turns out the Doc is a good actor, or I'm just not so good at my job anymore. I regret writing him off like that.

By the time I scrambled off the roof, back through the open door and legged it down each flight of stairs, Steve and Rhodey had disappeared and a few furious crashes echoed from Bruce's lab.

Instinct flattened my body against the wall and insisted my ears tuned in for any Hulk-related sounds while I crept to his doorway. Even after so long without the Big Guy it was automatic. But rather than the monstrous grunts and groans of the ever-angry green giant, there came very human, very Bruce sounding, mutterings.

They were different from his I'm-so-focused-on-my-work-I've-forgotten-there's-a-world-around-me mutterings. Those were calm and measured and were usually when he was glued to the spot in front of his whiteboard. But these ones, he paced from one end of the room to the other. He alternated between twisting his fingers and tugging at his hair. His glasses went from pushed right up against his eyes, to balancing on the tip of his nose, to tucked away in the pocket of his lab coat. The words that tumbled from his mouth hissed and fizzed. Sometimes he laughed and it was a cutting sound. If this was any other time there would be a heavy hint of green spreading across his skin. But even then, when anger and stress and anxiety coursed through him, the Hulk stayed away.

There were a few shards of broken mugs scattered across the floor, mixed in what I assumed to be long-forgotten coffee. Some of his equipment were victims of his human rage too.

I watched as he spoke to himself, as he kicked aside the debris of broken cups, as he stopped and gripped at the edge of one of his tables with both hands. I thought he was going to flip it over, and send everything atop it flying (it was a lot of stuff), but he thought better of it. Instead of pacing again he stayed on the spot and looked up at the ceiling. His shaggy hair tumbled back and I marvelled at how I hadn't noticed how much it'd grown.

He turned on the spot and levelled me with a glare.

"How long have you been there?"

I shrugged.

"Come to tell me off, I suppose."

"No," I said, "I heard you shout at them. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

When his eyes met mine I knew he wasn't. He was a man full of anxieties, even without his other half being a threat. And I saw all the worries on show.

What if he made the Hulk worse?

What if he never came out of it?

What if the Hulk never came back?

"Why?" He asked, brows furrowed so deep it looked like it hurt.

"Not often I hear you shout, Doc."

"So you're worried about the Hulk." He said.

"Worried about you."

He laughed and paced once again. He winced under my gaze but I didn't let up. In my experience if people were already talking to themselves then they couldn't help it if someone was there to listen.

"You should go," he said without looking at me, "I need to concentrate and I've had enough interruptions today." He tried to inject some venom into his voice but he missed the mark and he sounded desperate instead.

"Bruce, you need to take a break from this."

He stuttered to a halt in the middle of the room, his deep breaths had nothing to do with how much he'd walked. "I can't. This has to be right, Nat. I have to make sure this is right."

I left my spot in the doorway and approached him with caution. While it didn't take much to provoke the Hulk into attacking, it didn't take much to make Bruce flee. Guess the caution wasn't needed though, he seemed surprised when he realised I was right in front of him. To his credit he didn't flinch when I grasped both his shoulders.

"And how are you going to do that in your current state of mind?" He started to speak but found he didn't have an answer. "If you carry on right now, while you're this stressed and clearly not thinking straight, then it _will_ go wrong."

He tensed and broke my grip as he stumbled towards the nearest table, the same one he almost flipped over earlier. For one heart-stopping moment I thought he was going to hulk out. Instead he just gripped it and counted his breaths.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make it worse."

"You didn't," he said between gasps and I didn't quite believe him, "I just hate it because you're right. You're so goddamn right and I can't afford to get it wrong. What if something else pays us a visit from space? We need his strength. We'll always need his strength. And what if I do this and all I've done is get rid of him and you're just stuck with me. Maybe I should just leave this alone, Nat. Maybe I'm not meant to do this."

"Don't you dare," I said and stepped to his side, "don't you dare say that. I can feel it Bruce, deep in my bones you're supposed to do this. Just like I _knew_ I was supposed to take the opportunity Clint gave me when we first met."

"But-"

"No. You felt it too. You started to look into it for a reason. You need to trust yourself."

Bruce took one last deep breath and stood up straight before running both hands through his hair again.

"I trusted myself before and look what happened. I became a monster."

I sighed. "We've been over this too many times to count. You," I prodded him in the chest, "are no monster. Nor is the Other Guy. And, just for the record, we need your intelligence just as much as we need his strength."

"But what if something goes wrong? What if I can't do it?"

"Didn't you say you could?"

"Huh?"

"The day before the wedding. Didn't you say you could?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then what's changed? From that moment to this, what's different?"

Bruce paused and thought back on the twelve months that have passed since he made his announcement. I watched him work through each thing he'd done and saw his body relax and breathing become less ragged.

"Nothing," he said, "not a damn thing."

"Then it sounds like you've got it all in hand, Doc," I said and headed for the door, "make sure you remember that."

"Where are you going?"

"I have some ass to kick and heads to bang together," I called over my shoulder and heard him laugh.

And it was the last one I heard. Needless to say Steve and Rhodey didn't have much to laugh about, and they had even less after I was done with them. Phrases like 'enforced holiday' and 'desk duty' and 'paperwork' were all thrown about as promises. And when I felt like even that didn't do the trick I lumbered them with the press requests that had come through thick and fast.

"So, we're being punished for doing a good job," Rhodey said once I was done, "because you started all this off by saying we did a good job."

"You did a good job in the field," I said, "but back here the both of you have shown a complete disregard for your colleagues. And I mean for each other as well as Bruce."

"So," Steve said, "our punishment for not working well together behind the scenes is to...work together?"

"Yep," I said as Friday brought a graphic to life in front of me, an effective way of telling everyone to piss off.

"She's either completely mad," Rhodey said to Steve as they left the room, "or she's an evil genius."

* * *

**22 September 2019**

"Where's Morgan?"

Two little words that I've learned to be terrified of, Tom.

Why?

Because I've spent most of the day answering that question on several different occasions after I offered to babysit.

What on Earth possessed me to volunteer the Avengers for such a thing? It's Pepper and Tony's anniversary. He wanted to do something special, which I'm sure translates to over the top, cheesy, and expensive.

Hurricane Morgan made landfall at midday. We spent an hour getting Pepper to leave. Along with her child she left behind enough instructions to fill a manual and all the type of things usually associated with babies.

When I watched her go I figured it'd be easy. Four of us vs. one baby, though with the people standing beside me there was a good chance it would turn into one baby and three people in need of minding vs. one very harassed spy. But I'd dealt with two, then three, Barton children by myself, this one will be fine.

Except I was forgetting one thing.

Kinda important too.

This was the spawn of Stark.

Though more of her mother was softening her features, Morgan took after her father. By the end of the day I was surprised I didn't look up to find her inventing something.

The kid can't even crawl, yet she'd zoom from A to B quicker than she had any right to. If we took our eyes off her for a second she was almost out the door. Two seconds and we were asking that dreaded question that caused a ripple of panic in us all.

"Where's Morgan?"

There were so many close calls that had me ask Friday to compile a list of everything that needed baby proofing throughout the compound. Then it struck me that it was something I should have taken care of _before_ the event. We distracted her as much as we could with loud and colourful toys (which had a habit of hiding themselves everywhere, every time Steve sat on the sofa it yelled nursery rhymes at him, and if you dared to walk without looking you kicked something that jingled all the way across the floor), and the food which Rhodey accused of invading our fridge. Our repayment was full diapers and everything that came with it.

Despite the chaos and the mess and the panic, it was nice to have this little life in the compound with us. Evening saw each of us exhausted but smiling. None of us worried about anything happening outside our walls. Bruce was sat on the sofa and flipped through one of Morgan's padded books, Rhodey had stolen the chair at my desk and was spinning around in it idly as he stared up at the ceiling, Steve was sprawled in the middle of the floor and clutched a teddy bear I think he'd forgotten about to his side. I was also on the floor but had my back against the free side of the sofa. Morgan was sat in my lap and discovered she was fascinated with my fingers. She squeezed them and prodded and tapped. She giggled and I couldn't help but smile.

Bruce sighed and put down the book and looked around the room at all the non-child friendly things we'd hastily shoved out of the way. "There should be a film about this," he said.

"Three Men and a Baby," Rhodey said from my desk and stopped his spinning, "the closest we're gonna get."

"You've watched that?" I asked and arched my eyebrow at him.

"Um, no."

"Don't think that's close enough," Bruce said, "Four Avengers and a Baby is far more chaotic. Imagine if she had powers."

"Okay, now you're just thinking of The Incredibles," I said, "Morgan is not Jack-Jack. And I can't believe I actually said that sentence."

Bruce and Rhodey laughed.

"You know I have no idea what you guys are talking about," Steve said.

"Don't worry, I bet it won't be long before Natasha adds both films to your list," Bruce said.

"Damn right I am."

"Language," Steve smirked and looked affronted at the glare I shot him, "what? There's a baby present."

"A baby with a favourite," Rhodey muttered.

"Obviously Steve," I said, "he panics and pats her on the head. You know she's not a dog right?"

"You know what, Romanoff."

We all laughed and Morgan joined in. She gave up my fingers to reach out for a toy she'd dropped earlier. Steve and Bruce moved for it as Rhodey and I watched on.

"Anyone else worried how she's already got us all wrapped around her little finger?" He asked. "Or is it just me?"

It wasn't just him.


	34. Chapter 34

**5 October 2019**

I dreamt of Wanda last night.

She was so clear, more than just a vague image and an essences of herself. Every detail was Wanda, right down to her natural accent she had just after the she joined the team, but she looked just as she did when I met up with her, Sam, and Steve after my misadventures with Taskmaster.

We were in the gym training, only instead of the usual circuit there were stalls set up like a funfair. The one we spent most of our time at had cans piled in a pyramid, she had to knock them all down with a ball of energy she'd created then put them all back in place; increasing her strength of attack and finessing the more subtle side of her abilities.

She missed and we laughed. The gym faded out of view and the Quinjet surrounded us, a faceless, nameless someone sitting in the pilot's seat as the laughter continued to fall from us. Wanda tried to speak between gasps and the words that formed were in her native tongue. I couldn't understand them in my dream state.

Friday tried to speak to us. The AI sounded desperate, urgent. In the end it too started to laugh.

And I woke up. Breathless and smiling and for once feeling rested. I felt peaceful as I stretched and thought about telling Wanda about the dream, she liked to try and decipher them.

But then it all came crashing down around me.

I couldn't tell Wanda because Wanda wasn't there.

And the peace within curdled, hardened and choked. I was breathless again, but this time was different. The grief crushed as reality flooded back and gripped me tighter as if punishing me for the few moments where I thought life was normal.

The pain of that realisation was worse than soviet slugs ripping their way through flesh, bone, tissue and muscle.

For a few seconds the day was so bright. One of the brightest I'd woken to in a while.

Then the clouds descended, and I spent the rest of it lost in murky shadows of the past.

* * *

**9 October 2019**

Hey Tom,

One thing I've learned about myself since joining the Avengers is that I don't mind helping people. I mean, obviously one of the side effects of my work with Shield was that people were helped. Sometimes directly and sometimes not. Joining up with the merry band of superheroes and Clint meant that those jobs went from the murky world of espionage to the glittering global stage. And it dawned on me that while I thought I was in it for the adrenaline or the need to make up for some of the things I'd done, that wasn't the case anymore. Perhaps it never had been and I lied to myself because it didn't fit with the image the Red Room had crafted; it took years after I was physically freed of them to also be mentally freed.

No, as I'd come to realise, the reason I carried on with the work is because the need to atone was hiding a deeper, more urgent, need to help those who needed help. Those who didn't even realise they needed it, those who would never know someone intervened on their behalf.

And Bruce, on the run up to the his big day, was one of those people.

He wanted Thor there, with him, with us.

A reasonable request if the god wasn't so intent on remaining unreachable.

Valkyrie: had only seen him from afar. She's busy keeping the Asgardians running. They're a fairly autonomous people, they know what's essential to a successful civilisation, but even they need a hand to guide them. And the hand they found was hers.

Korg: sees him almost every day. The time they spend together is pure leisure, full of food and beer and games. No one speaks to Thor of anything important. No one dares to. Someone mentioned Thanos' name to him once and a storm so huge blew through the settlement and none of the fishing boats were able to go out for days. As much as he'd like to talk to Thor for me he doesn't want to risk a repeat.

Wong: might be able to portal me into the god's living room to take him by surprise, but as much as we're on good terms I don't think he'd appreciate me demoting him from Sorcerer Supreme to the mystical equivalent of Uber. Even though he spends a lot of his time playing a video game to help him take his 'mind off the physical world around him'. It's the same one Korg was playing when I visited. I remember when Clint and I...

I think I've just had an idea.

Sorry to cut this little chat short, Tom, but I've got to see a man about a game.

* * *

**18 October 2019**

Hi Tom,

Arms dealers, space fights, drunk racoons, angry half androids.

All your standard ingredients for a sub-par B-movie. Except, somehow, these are all aspects of my actual life.

Guess I should break it down for you.

So, drunk racoons first. Rocket isn't doing so well. Dealing with that Dark Elf knocked him for six. Reminded him of the last moments before he left his group behind to go with Thor. My guess is he was never the warmest guy and his parting words were in keeping with his character. There's a lot to regret in hindsight. And no chance of finding a solution at the bottom of the bottle, but that didn't stop him from trying.

Which leads to the angry half androids - while Rocket is going on his downward spiral Nebula is dealing with the aftermath of his actions. She was forced to look after the ship and run their missions alone. She's threatened to fly the ship herself, in between scathing insults and bone-chilling threats. No way in hell was he going to let her take that away from him, so he's curbed his drinking just enough that he's not totally hammered behind the controls. Our regular calls are not peaceful things and though her temper is focused on her constant companion it sometimes spills over to other targets.

And then the space fights. While all is mostly quiet on the final frontier, a few more skirmishes have been had. Carol's completed some daring rescues, most recently from some Kree extremists she uncovered. Without any leads to go on for Thanos' research Rocket and Nebula (despite their drunken and angered states) have started to do what she does. Swoop in, cause chaos for the bad guys, bring hope to the good guys, and swoop back out again. Rocket keeps asking when we're going to start charging for our services. I keep pointing him to our policy that says don't do it. One of the upsides is that communication between the three of them is better. Sure, there's still a rockiness between the racoon and the captain but they're working together and it's good to see. I've extended an invitation for all three to join us for Christmas. Some R&R is needed.

And last but not least is the arms dealers. This one on the home front. A man T'challa and the War Dogs were tracking before the Snap. A clever man who used that opportunity to pretend he was one of the ones who'd disappeared. Though recent actions have landed him not just on Okoye's radar, but mine. He's extended his operations to America. Evidence suggests he set up shop here about a month ago.

He's a tough man to ingratiate yourself with. One of the downsides of Wakanda opening itself up to the world is that people are now aware of it and the influence it's had throughout the African continent. Wakanda's intelligence organisation have struggled to get close to him and his ever suspicious mind. But the fool has gone from the backyard of a single Avenger to the backyard of several.

"We want him, Nat," holo-Okoye said, her voice rang out as if she wasn't half a world away.

"And you'll have him," I said, flicking through a report Pepper had sent over about WOOPS, it was the first of our surprise inspections. I put it down and looked up. "I promise, when we find him he's all yours."

"You would do that? I believe your government are always on the lookout for an easy win to splash across the news."

"They need to learn there's no such thing." I waved her concerns away. "This guy has terrorised Africa for years. We only know he's over here because you gave us the heads up. We will catch him and he'll face Wakandan justice. And any information we find, we'll share it with you."

"Did no one ever tell you, Nat," she said "you're not supposed to cooperate this easily."

"Maybe if egos were put aside the world wouldn't be such a shithole," I said and she smiled. "Anyway, you're speaking to me, an Avenger, not a representative of the government. We might be based here but we work for the world."

We spent a few more minutes talking then she signed off. I made a note to pass the job to Steve tomorrow, before he disappeared to one of his meetings.

* * *

**24 October 2019**

Hey Tom,

When we first met I didn't make the best impression on Bruce.

I tricked him into meeting with me then lied about having backup; orders are orders. I hid guns all around the building, there were so many that even after he agreed to go with us he had to wait ten minutes for me to collect them all.

Walking into that house, waiting for him, I was wary. I'd seen the footage, I knew what his other half was capable of. And the fact was if he changed no amount of guns was going to help.

He walked the room, asked his questions and then, at last, faced me from across the table. He was everything I imagined and also not. Dorky, careful with his words, intelligent, altogether a man of a calm nature. No sign at all of the rage machine he kept locked away. Not a ripple.

Bruce was in complete control. Even when he feigned anger. If someone had asked me then if I thought he would one day find a way to coexist with the Hulk, to live in peace and without fear of hurting others, I might have been inclined to say yes. The thing with Doctor Banner is that he only ever sees the worst. He sees all the times he hulked out and caused harm and damage but never the times he avoided it, never the times he stopped himself. It doesn't matter that in those times he 'failed' he was often manipulated into it. All that mattered to him was that the incident occurred.

Now we're a week away from him achieving what he thought was impossible. A single week was all that stood between him and the peace he'd craved since the accident in the lab. And those little slips are still the things that haunt him most.

I found him this evening sitting on the dock looking out at the water, hands folded in his lap. He didn't bother to look round when I stepped closer.

"Hey Nat."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Haven't you noticed? Steve and Rhodey have been acting weird around me all month, they wouldn't come looking for me."

"They just don't know what to say, or how to act. What you're gonna do, it's not something that happens every day."

He looked up at me and again I saw the man from when we first met. The one who was exactly as I expected and so much more. "I've not been through it before, either." Was all he said.

"Well then, what would you like people to say to you? How would you like them to act?"

"Normal."

"Please, as if Steve's ever known how to act normal," I said as I sat down beside him, "him trying to act normal almost got us caught more than few times back in our fugitive days."

"What's Rhodey's excuse?"

"When your best friend is Tony Stark it's hard to know what normal is."

Bruce smiled in spite of himself. Though he was feeling better than the previous month, his panic still followed him. There were still the doubts there telling him he was messing with something he didn't understand. Now that I knew all was not well, they were easier to see. I couldn't blame him for feeling it, the path in front of him was of literal transformation. If any of us were facing the same journey as him we'd find something to freak out about too.

"Hard to argue with that logic," he said. "I can't quite get my head around the fact that this is real. I thought for sure something might go wrong. Or the Other Guy would come back and ruin it somehow, but - I don't know. Guess a week is still a long time for something to happen."

"Why are you so convinced something's going to happen?" I asked and he gave me a look that said it was a stupid thing to ask. So I responded with a glare of my own that said there's no such thing as a stupid question when it comes from me.

"Something always does. I have a job I love, I ruin it by trying to recreate the super soldier serum. I hide for ages without an incident, I get recruited to the Avengers. I think I'm in control of this condition and the Hulk takes over for two years. I come back to myself and start heading for home only to find the Avengers have split up. Something always happens."

He spoke without really thinking about the run ups to each event, there was no accusation in his voice but that didn't stop the guilt I felt from resurfacing.

"Well this is awkward," I said," since I was involved in three of those things."

"That's not what I'm saying. If I'm honest I think those things would have happened with or without you. Though, coming to on a different planet would have been more of a long shot."

"D'you know what I think," I said.

"Very rarely."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I smiled. "I think all those things were essential steps on your journey to here. Nothing else is going to happen because the only thing left is the one thing you're already planning on."

"But-"

"You worry too much, Doc. Sit back, relax. Your life is about to change, take this opportunity to enjoy what you have right now. Trust me when I say you'll regret it otherwise."

We both looked out at the water and I saw his body loosen in my peripheral. I didn't dare say the other things I thought. That he was on the verge of living the life he was supposed to, with the confidence he deserved to have. That right now he was only half living.

"I think you're right," he said and did the least Bruce thing I could think of by lunging into the water. When he broke back through the surface his chattering teeth broke up the laughter that spilled over from him.

"Sure do look relaxed right now," I said with trademark sarcasm as he tried to float on his back but ended up treading water instead.

"Yep. Freezing water on an evening in mid to late October, it's one of life's hidden pleasures," he said and I laughed harder than I had in a while. Though I sobered a little when I remembered my dream about Wanda.

I might not have made the best first impression on Bruce, and the Hulk might not have made the best first impression with me. But somehow, all these years later, we'd found a way to get along. And I was glad of that.

* * *

**31 October 2019**

Waiting.

It's a strong suit of mine.

I'm real good at it.

Give me a low key car or some comfy shadows to hide in and I'll make myself at home on a stakeout. Screw me over and I'll happily let years go by for the perfect opportunity to get revenge.

Patience isn't a virtue. It's a talent. A skill. An art form.

And I'm a master. If I do say so myself.

Do you know who isn't?

The man who phoned me while I got in as many laps around the perimeter as possible before the sun rose. Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to get more sleep. But in my defence no one was sleeping last night. Too many thoughts bouncing around all our heads.

"When are you all getting here? Move out people, we need to get the show on the road."

"Tony," I said without missing a beat, "it's five in the morning. Please don't tell me you're already there."

"Fine. I won't. But that means I need to hang up before I let it slip. Hurry it up Nat."

He hung up.

The sun arrived; muted and selfish.

The reason the almighty Ironman wasn't good at waiting? When he feels his nerves he likes to take action instead of managing them.

But managing is what I did. That's why I spent the entire night reading Bruce's work, all those reports and analyses. I looked at the science he put forth and educated myself on anything I didn't understand. By the time I was done I saw formulas and theories and scientific phrases every time I blinked. I could recite his paper from front to back and know how everything pieced together.

And that's why I continued my laps. It was time to settle myself, to fully absorb this new knowledge, to calculate the odds of certain eventualities, to find solutions. I ran because a clear and level head was needed.

And it didn't look like Tony was in any state to provide one.

Steve joined me. He was late out and kept pace with me instead of heading on. He didn't need the serotonin spike or the steady rhythm of the run. He needed the company.

"Get much sleep?" I asked.

"No. You?"

"No," I sighed. "Tony phoned."

"He's already there isn't he?" I heard the half smile in his voice. I didn't need to answer.

When all the jangling nerves had unhooked themselves and my rattling thoughts settled, I knew I was ready for the day ahead.

The others just needed to catch up.

"Place your orders," I said as I breezed into the kitchen after a quick shower, "kitchen's now open." Steve followed me in and joined Bruce and Rhodey at the table, not even arguing his indefinite cooking ban. Rhodey's eyes lit up at the mention of food, having half-attempted to talk to the other man.

Because what do you say to someone on the day they're merging their gamma-born-rage-machine and their gentle-carbon-based-scientist selves? What do you do? It's not like you can get them a card.

And that's where we were today, Tom.

Eighteen months of dedication (bordering on obsession), eighteen months of hard work, eighteen months of a patience even I would have found tough, and he was right where he predicted he'd be. The finish line in sight, about to achieve the one thing he never dared to dream of.

"Pancakes," Rhodey said, "I think if any morning calls for pancakes it's this one. That alright with you Bruce?"

"Hmmm?"

"Breakfast." Rhodey said, "what do you want?"

"Oh, err, nothing."

"Well," I said and made a show of looking through the cupboards and opening the fridge, "we're fresh out of nothing, can I interest you in pancakes?"

"Umm, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Pancakes are always a good idea," Steve chimed in.

"Seconded," Rhodey said.

"C'mon, Doc, you're supposed to be a smart man," I said, "whatever's happening you're gonna need energy. And where do you think you're gonna get that energy from?"

He'd fixed his gaze on the window and looked upon the new day and jogged his knee so the table shook just a bit. But there was a small smile on his face. "Pancakes," he said.

"Yes," Rhodey said, "way to cave into peer pressure, man."

Several batches and a perfect flipping score later, we sat around the table and ate in a silence full of anticipation. As he chewed, Rhodey checked his phone and shot me a look across the table.

"Uh, any reason I have three missed calls from Tony?"

I hummed. "Only three, that's almost disappointing."

There were a few things we needed to take with us to Bruce's place. Some last minute essentials to move from one lab to the other. We ferried those from the compound to the car then piled in. I took the wheel while Rhodey clambered into the passenger's seat. Steve and Bruce sat in the back. As I drove up the winding road I pretended not to notice Bruce looking back at the building he was about to outgrow.

When we reached Bruce's new home Tony was laid out on top of his car, sunglasses on despite the cloud that had come to stay.

"Four hours, Nat. I phoned you four hours ago," he said as he slipped off the car and hugged Bruce. "S'up bud, looking forward to it?"

"I guess," the scientist shrugged his way out of the hug and went to unlock the door, "why didn't you let yourself in? You have a key."

"He just wanted to be dramatic," I said.

"Did I mention the whole four hours thing?"

"See, can't even sit still for a little while."

Tony snatched his glasses off and glared at me as we followed Bruce into the building and I just smiled. The glint in his eyes was too mischievous for it to be real, the twitch to his jaw betrayed his own smile that he just about kept at bay. He wasn't annoyed, and no longer was he feeling his nerves. There was an air of excitement about him, the one that would have always been there if this experiment was being done on him instead of one of his closest friends.

In fact, as we all stood in the entrance hall the only person exuding nerves was Bruce. Knowing how important the day was and how much pressure he'd place on himself we made all the effort we could to get rid of ours.

"Alright, gang's all here," Tony said and clapped his hands together, "shall we get started."

"Sure," Bruce said "Tony, Nat can you help me set some stuff up in the lab, please. Steve and Rhodey, if you could bring the things in from the car that'll help a lot."

I don't remember much about the mid-morning flurry of activity. Just that every task achieved meant we were one step closer to a new chapter in Bruce's life.

I set up the monitors, closer.

Tony ran diagnostics, closer.

Bruce did a quick inventory check, closer.

It reminded me a little of old times in the tower though. When Tony and Bruce burned the midnight oil in their lab and I sometimes found myself wondering in to watch, driven there by my old friend, insomnia.

By midday, the lab was fully functioning and raring to go. Steve and Rhodey had finished bringing everything in and focused on putting it away. By the time we were done, the pancakes were a distant memory and our stomachs growled for more.

So loud it was like thunder.

We looked at each other and rushed outside.

The clouds grew thicker, as did the atmosphere. Electricity was in the air and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end. I had hoped this would happen but didn't dare believe.

"Wait, is that Point Break?" Tony asked.

"Of course it is. We did just order lunch, didn't we?" Rhodey said.

In a flash Thor stood before us and Bruce's lawn was a smouldering Bifrost mess. The god had his axe swung over his shoulder and his hair, on the verge of overgrown, was swept up on the breeze and flicked into his eyes. He swiped it away with clumsy hands, then ran his fingers through his unkempt beard. He wore loose clothes to hide the loss of his physique but in his face I could already see a man using his addiction to food to get him through all that he tried to cope with.

Seeing him, it was a painful reminder of how far he'd pushed away from us, of how incapable any of us were of helping him.

"Friends," he said, and though he tried to project his voice as normal, the usual booming quality of his words was missing.

"Th-Thor?" Bruce said and the confusion was clear on his face. He wanted his friend here but had tried to get in touch with him to no avail. He'd prepared himself for going through this without the man who had brought him to his senses on Sakaar. "What are you doing here?"

"It is a momentous day for you," Thor said, "I would not miss it. Now, is it not also some kind of festival of treats? Let us go inside for I am hungry enough to devour a Bilgesnipe in one sitting." He marched past us and through the front door, Bruce followed him in, along with Tony. Rhodey looked back at me and Steve.

"We'll wait for the delivery," I said.

When we were left alone Steve laughed. "How on Earth did you manage that one?"

I was sat on the bonnet of my car. Steve leaned against it. I tapped my fingers on the metal. He had his arms folded.

"Not sure I know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," he said with a sidelong glance in my direction.

"Fine," I said, the habit of keeping my lies to Steve a bare minimum wearing me down quicker than any interrogation could, "let's just say it turns out I'm a nifty gamer."

"I'm not even sure I know what that means."

"Exactly why I told _you_, some things are meant to be a mystery," I said and nudged him, we both laughed. "Wong and Thor play the same game. I found him through there and spoke to him, but I didn't think it made any difference." I sighed. "Guess I was wrong. Had to give Wong Thor's player ID as a thanks for helping me out. He wants some payback for a few valuable things Thor broke when he visited the sanctum."

It wasn't long before the food turned up and we all crowded into the lab. We kept things light and chatted about whatever came to mind as long as it wasn't the very thing we were all gathered for. Bruce ate but it was forced. I recognised the look in his eyes, the queasiness that lurked just beneath and I knew it didn't matter how light we kept things, he just wanted to get it over with. I placed a hand on his arm.

"You alright?"

"As alright as I can be," he said. Tony looked over at us and seemed to understand what was going through the scientist's mind. He put his plate to one side and disappeared from the room. "Thank you for being here."

"Hey, I promised didn't I."

"And for getting Thor here. I don't know how you did it but I know it was you." We both looked over at the god as he filled his mouth while he was trying to speak. "Doesn't look good, does he?"

I shook my head. "I keep hoping him being with us might help, you know, a reminder of our days as the Avengers and the glory of battle," I put on my best Thor voice for the last part, "but in the end I worry that it does more harm than good. Maybe we remind him more of Thanos than anything else."

"Any time he's not cooped up has to be good for him," Bruce said, "maybe he'll stay a few days."

"Think you're the only one who can convince him, Bruce. He respects you."

He was going to say something else but we were interrupted by Tony coming back in. I wasn't sure if the grin boded well or not. Judging by the groan, Bruce had no idea either.

"Thought you might want these snazzy things," Tony said and held up the shorts he and Bruce had created for Code Green transformations, "found them boxed away in my garage. Not sure why they were there but all that matters is that they were." He threw them at Bruce who mis-timed the catch and ended up with a face full of fabric.

"He just really missed you when you were gone," Rhodey said, "I lost count of how many times I saw him walking around wearing those things."

"Right, that's it. You're banned from hanging out with Blondie so much, you never used to lie before."

We all laughed, even Bruce who, at that point, was having trouble knowing how to behave. "This is actually really useful, thanks Tony."

At his serious tone we all sobered up, a sure sign it was time to get underway. Bruce went to change and the rest of us stood around not looking at each other. And again I don't remember much of the final moments leading up to Bruce getting into the chamber, but we all shared a few words, told Bruce how happy we were for him, how proud. Thor pulled him into a hug and held him tightly and mumbled things none of the rest of us could hear. And then he let go and hurried behind the rest of us, the fear that all might not go well clearer on his face than ours.

"This is it, I guess," Bruce said, looking at the chamber then at us. Steve nodded at him, Tony and Rhodey gave him the thumbs up, and I smiled. "I just want to say thanks. To all of you. This, this is something that was always impossible to me and - and I wouldn't be here if not for you guys. See you on the other side."

Now, I don't know what it was like for Bruce once he stepped into that chamber and shut himself off from the world. I don't know what he went through, if it happened in the blink of an eye for him or if the hours dragged just as much as they did for us.

What I do know is that the rest of us were on edge for the first couple of hours. No one spoke, no one even breathed too loudly. In fact, most of us kept our eyes on the monitoring equipment, blinking only when our eyes couldn't bear the fruitless staring contest anymore. One by one we fell. Thor started to pace and he mumbled things to himself. Rhodey grew restless and watched the god move around the room while he tried to engage him in conversation. Tony, the man whose patience I ridiculed, was the next one to drop out and I was impressed with how long he lasted. It was a massive sign of the respect he had for the man going through the experiment.

Steve and I remained. The worry evident in his eyes. To him it didn't matter that the odds were in Bruce's favour. All that mattered was that if there was a possibility for things to go wrong for us they would. The only thing that had stopped him from objecting to it was his resolute belief in Bruce's ability.

I didn't say anything to him. I still remembered the last time I told him something was going to work. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The only thing that tore his attention away from the chamber was an argument about food. It was already early evening and Thor was starting to get grumpy.

"I better go sort that out," Steve said and left me to keep sole watch.

Even though we hadn't spoken much, Steve's mere presence had stopped my thoughts from wondering. But with him gone I couldn't help but think of worst case scenarios. All the ones I'd banished from my head while I told Bruce he had nothing to worry about. As long as he trusted himself everything would be okay. That's what I told him, and that's what I needed to believe. I trusted him. He wouldn't fuck this up.

_So stop thinking like he will, Natasha._

It was an effort to steer my thoughts away from all of that. In the end it was Tony begging Thor to summon a storm that helped.

"C'mon Thor, help a guy out would ya."

"I do not understand your jest, Stark."

"A storm on Halloween, there's no better night for it. And if there's a particularly loud crash of thunder when he steps out of the chamber so I can yell 'it's alive' then all the better."

"I still do not understand."

"Frankenstein! It's a film. I'm sure we watched it on one of our movie nights."

Thor just shrugged and tucked into one of the Chinese food cartons that had turned up at some point. I thought about grabbing one but the queasiness I saw in Bruce earlier made an appearance in me. Rhodey eyed me and was about to come over with one when I waved him away. He shrugged, then said to the group, "At least Bruce will never need to worry about finding a Halloween costume again."

"Do you think he is okay," Thor asked, "should we check on him?"

"No," I said, "I know you want make sure nothing's gone wrong but we can't interrupt the process. Sorry, Thor." That's when the tension crept back in. It skulked around the edges of the room and fed off the good humour that been so desperately drummed up by the guys who wanted to keep their minds busy.

One by one they put their food to one side, whatever I felt was obviously contagious. As much as they tried to hide behind laughter and smiles the worry we tried to keep at bay was a real one. And it's at times like these you know what someone means to a group.

Without much prompting we'd dropped everything to be here. We gave Bruce our word to be there for him, in some cases he didn't even ask and we made sure we turned up. The fact that hours had passed and none of us entertained the idea of going home and coming back, or even grumbled at how long it was taking. It showed that Bruce was more than just an essential part of the Avengers. He was an essential part of our lives.

The machines beeped.

I was up and out of my position before I even registered the movement. My heart was telling me it wanted to beat in my throat but I pushed it back down to its rightful place as I scanned the information flashing before me.

His rhythm had changed. As if he was sleeping before but was awake now. The others were at my side. Thor tapped the screen as if the more he annoyed it the more likely it would speak to him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked but no one answered. Because no one knew. We could speculate, judging by the fast tapping of fingers against leg, that's just what Tony was doing. Or we could just stare and hope, which is the camp I think the rest of us sat in. Maybe this was the first stage of the process coming to the end, maybe it was the actual end. I didn't care what, as long as the person involved was alright.

Then there was a hissing. A release of pressure.

Thor jumped and looked for the threat. The rest of us looked at the chamber. Breath suddenly solid. Lungs frozen.

The doors opened and there were a few seconds of painful nothing. Then someone stepped out. There were some glaring differences between him and the man who went in; the green skin for one, the height for another. But there was no mistaking the Bruce within him. The sheepish look as he took us all in, the careful control on the newfound strength of his muscles, the gentle smile and, as always, the deep compassion and intelligence that had so long lived in his eyes.

It struck me then that for the first time in our lives we were seeing Bruce as he was always meant to be.

None of us said anything. It was a moment we couldn't bring ourselves to break. Bruce looked at each and every one of us and we looked back with a rainbow of emotions. He held his hands up either side of him.

"So," he said in a voice much deeper but still, without question, him, and settled his eyes on me, "how do I look?"

And I smiled. It was one I couldn't stop. It was gradual and burning and the most genuine smile I've had since before the Snap.

"Like you," I said.

* * *

**A/N: Hi guys!**

**So, I've had the gist of the last bit in my mind for ages, I figured Bruce's transformation would be a big deal and therefore a nerve-wracking day for everyone (especially him) and I hope I've done it justice.**

**I also wanted to give you a bit of a warning, as of this week I'm going back to work after a long time on furlough (yay!) so there's a chance at some point in the future updates will become slower. I'll do my utmost to keep posting regularly, I try and be a few chapters ahead but I've discovered I'm a slow writer and right now chapter thirty five is a few rough notes scribbled in a notebook.**

**Anyway, stay safe and well :)**


	35. Chapter 35

**4 November 2019**

Hi Tom,

A place is never so depressing as when someone leaves it.

And Bruce's presence was always big, with or without the Hulk. He weaved his essence into the compound, became a fixed feature along with the walls of glass, heavy security and Friday. The gentleness that followed him everywhere became a natural balm to the stress that dogged everyone else. He was a someone who offered support and advice without even realising.

His absence feels like a temporary change. Only a few days had passed since Halloween and not everything felt like reality yet. At least he was gone for good reasons. There were plenty of people whose disappearance came with tragic stories. He wasn't one of them and I was glad for that.

Bruce had followed his new path right to the end, and now he was at the destination he was exploring everything it had to offer.

Thor agreed to stay a couple of days longer. Bruce has a way of getting through to him that most others don't. Though the god spent his time in a village filled with his people and kept the company of two of his friends, he was still isolated. The days he left his home were rare, and even then it was for as long as it took to stock up on beer and snacks.

All I knew was that Bruce was curious about the limits of his strength. It was far beyond what he had in his human form and, though his memories of the Big Guy were more than a little fuzzy, he knew it wasn't as much as the Hulk had at his fingertips.

With all the self-preservation and natural survival instincts we've come to expect from him, Steve volunteered to help our now permanently hulked out and bulked up friend with those tests. The idiot might be one of the strongest mortals around but he was far from invulnerable, and there was every chance of severe, though unintended, harm coming to him.

I think Bruce was grateful when Thor volunteered to be the punching bag instead. And, that's when we decided to go. The prospect of getting caught in the aftershocks of their conflict appealed to no one. Tony had disappeared home the day after the transformation. As much as he was happy for Bruce and wanted to celebrate the achievement, he didn't want to be away from his family for too long either. It was time for Steve, Rhodey and I to disappear too.

We needed to get back to business as usual, while the scientist really needed time to himself. The adjustment he was going through was big and there had to be a period where he could gauge how he felt without the pressure of all of us around him. He shared the lead up, the moment itself, and the aftermath with us. But there were some things he couldn't. Some things he shouldn't. This was very much a personal thing.

His body, it was new, it worked differently and there was more of it to control. Little things were so much harder while bigger things much more possible. The same with his mind; it doesn't matter how much he prepared himself before the transformation, planning for it and living it were different things.

And he wasn't just Bruce.

Though the Hulk demonstrated toddler like tendencies he brought much to the package. Top of that list was his confidence, or at least the ability to project a confidence when he felt like the most insecure thing in the world. While that was a positive change it was all part of the evolving mindset Bruce needed to come to terms with. When he's spent his life hanging back, confidence was as alien to him as the muscles and green skin.

On top of that were the avenues he used to walk without thinking that are no longer open to him. Once again he would have to learn to limit his life. He was used to that way of thinking, sure, but this wasn't about reducing exposure to dangerous situations or eliminating anything that made him angry and got his adrenaline pumping.

This was about everyday living.

How was he going to open doors without yanking them off their hinges?

Where was he going to find clothes to fit him?

How was he going to travel? Unless there's a tank going spare there aren't many road worthy vehicles he can use.

They were all questions he needed to think about before he answered because, as mundane as they seemed, the quality of his life from now on depended on it. And they were just the tip of the iceberg.

So, while he decided strength was a good place to start, which I wasn't going to argue with because it'll lead to an answer to that door question, we knew it was best to leave him to figure out all that followed.

That didn't stop me from missing him, though. I'm not supposed to admit that, am I? The infamous Black Widow isn't supposed to miss people. But, who are you going to tell?

I missed everyone who were once here but were now gone. I've often found myself wandering into the almost empty lab he used to occupy. There was still equipment there but it was the non-essential stuff. In the just-in-case-inspiration-strikes-while-he's-visiting lab.

Three times.

Three times since Halloween I've sought out that room to soak up what's left of his presence. He might have been a timid guy but he was still a force to be reckoned with. It was his habit to shrink away from the spotlight, only to make himself known in other ways. This room was his, it always would be, but it wasn't the same anymore. How could it be?

At least, for a little while longer, it was similar. The piles of papers and books that always threatened to topple were gone, but I still picked out the same paths I'd chosen so I wouldn't disturb them. Bruce had relocated but I still heard him; muffled if he faced the scribble-heavy whiteboard, animated if he waltzed around the room as he tried to keep up with his thoughts. Sometimes, if I breathed deep enough, I caught a whiff of his aftershave. So long did he spend there, his scent was fused to the foundations.

His presence was constant and reassuring, even when I wanted nothing to do with people it was a comfort to know that he was there.

That they all were there.

The gap he left behind in the compound was exacerbated by Rhodey going back to D.C., as much as he preferred to stay away from the capital he couldn't put his return off forever. At least he was more rested now.

Me and Steve.

The only two left. Two people used to very different types of loneliness. Mine was self-inflicted. Stay closed off and don't let people in, that was how I was raised and, for the most part, that was how I lived. It didn't make me happy but that's not what the life of a Black Widow was about. It was about survival. Any means necessary.

I guess Steve's was also self-inflicted, if you think about it. But he never intended the consequences that followed. His whole way of life, gone. Almost everyone he knew, gone. While he still existed. It was a cruel thing for someone so kind. But then again, maybe not. Plenty of people, Steve included, think of him as the man out of time. But I never subscribed to that notion. I prefer to think of him as the man born _before_ his time.

We'd faced so much together. But never something like this.

We sort of found ourselves seeking each other's company more. I don't know if it was on purpose or just a lot of coincidence. What I did know was as someone who liked my own routine I should have worried when he adopted mine.

Except I didn't.

In fact, it was nice to have the bubble of loneliness shift ever so slightly.

With Steve it wasn't just that I tried to push him away and he refused to play ball, it's that when I began to insist, I found that I didn't want to. I don't know how he does it but that Steve Rogers knows how to work his way into your life.

That autumn smell that sits on the air during October had disappeared in favour of the November chill. And he still joined me on the roof in the evenings when I'd had enough of the world reflected in my emails and reports.

Even though he's just as tired as I am.

Because the waiting around between missions and the doubt I know he feels in his heart, because I can still see it in his eyes, take their toll.

We stare at the night sky until it belongs to early morning and my whole body aches for a normal sleeping pattern. From his sluggish winces I guess Steve doesn't fare much better. And yet, heading down into that compound gets harder and harder to do.

So we stay.

And we talk about things.

Sometimes it's rubbish; the random thoughts churned from the dregs of our minds. And sometimes it's the things that can only be spoken with the veil of night between us. Things about the war he'd prefer to have left in the forties with the rest of his life. Or his mother, who he missed every single day since she passed. Some of the horrors I'd committed in my past. And the emptiness I carried with me from unsteady and unreliable memories of my childhood and adolescence.

That was how we filled the void left by Bruce.

With thoughts and secrets we'd never dare utter to anyone else.

Not even Bucky.

Not even Clint.

* * *

**12 November 2019**

Hi Tom,

Guess what's starting to creep out from it's almost year-long hibernation?

Yes, the Christmas infestation has started.

This time Steve isn't bothering to hide the little tweaks and additions he's made to the decor. I'm biting my tongue. He finds some sort of joy in it and that's a hard thing to come by now.

This year's soundtrack wasn't a continuous loop of loud and cheerful Christmas songs, no, it was a commentary on what the holiday was like as he was growing up.

As poor as he and his mum were she always found something for him, most often half-used pencils and pieces of paper. He said that was always the best thing in the world because he could create whatever he wanted. And he always used them to draw something for her. She treated every single one like a masterpiece.

They probably were. I've seen some of his sketches.

By today's standards their Christmas meals were nothing special. But his mum would save and get whatever she could to celebrate. I can imagine scrawny Steve struggling through each day, half-finished drawings scattered on the floor as they tucked into whatever was on their plates.

And I know it would have been enough for him. He never would have asked for more - except maybe better health and he got that in the end.

He came to find me last night, I'd decided to pay a visit to the chilly dock. The crispness of the air brings a different type of beauty to our surroundings that reminds me of Russia. He looked a little uncertain.

"How can I help you?" I said and turned back to the water, closing my eyes to better enjoy the sound of the gentle lapping.

"Well, I err, I need to put the stockings up," he said and the haunting images of those stitched names floated to the surface of my mind, I'd forgotten they would make an appearance, "wondered if you wanted to do it with me."

"Sure," I said, surprising even myself with the speed of my answer. There was nothing I wanted to do less.

"Oh, good. Well, let me know when you're ready."

"Now?" Might as well get it over with, right?

He led the way back into the compound and I took one last lungful of the lake air. The blast of warmth was a shock as I went back inside. The colder parts of me started to burn. The Christmas stockings were on a side table; brighter than I remembered.

"Same place as last year?" He asked.

"Wherever you want, this is your party."

Instead of answering he took the one with Bucky's name and attached it to where it had hung, useless, the previous Christmas. I grabbed Wanda's and put her next to him, then it was Vision, then Sam. The four of them stared at us and we stared back. We shared a moment of clawing grief and guilt. Then I grabbed Tony's name and hooked it up. The rest of the Avengers followed.

The last two went up, Steve's then mine, and we looked at this result for a while. A list representative of us, and yet doing nothing to highlight the complicated histories and relationships between us all. It glossed over the difficulties and just left a bunch of names linked together for better or worse.

We were all there. And yet, as I looked at them it didn't quite seem right.

* * *

**13 November 2019**

Hi Tom,

I walked into the living area again early this morning and saw the stockings. I realised what was missing.

When Steve came in a couple of hours later he didn't say anything when he spotted Clint, Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nate's names added next to mine. Nor Nick and Maria's.

He just nodded and went about his day.

* * *

**28 November 2019**

Hi Tom,

This morning I woke up to Friday alerting me to the Starks arriving at the front gate. They would be at the compound in less than a minute.

My two very fuzzy thoughts were annoyance and surprise. Annoyed that Friday had woke me up and surprised that weak morning light filtered through my curtains.

What felt like five minutes later Friday's voice rang out again in my quarters, this time to say Rhodey had just touched down in the landing bay outside. Sleep clawed at my mind, my throat and the edge of my vision. But I noticed the light was a little stronger than before.

By the time Friday announced Bruce was here I'd dragged myself to the edge of my bed and stared at my bare feet on the carpeted floor.

Last night I hadn't made it to bed until three in the morning. A mixture of a late night conversation with Okoye, a need to make a dent in the mountain of paperwork I had building up, and an emergency with a top security organisation that required my little utilised hacking skills.

On its own it's not enough of a wild night to cause me to struggle to get out of bed the next morning.

And that was the problem, it wasn't on its own. Of the last nineteen nights that had passed, I worked late seventeen of them. Most of them ended later than yesterday. And just because I was bone-weary didn't mean the dreams and nightmares weren't going to come.

Except for last night.

In short. I was a mess. Dragged from the first comforting bout of sleep I'd had in what felt like years. Because everyone decided today was a good day to all turn up.

"Director, Captain Rogers requests you make an appearance downstairs," the AI interrupted the workings of my mind for the fourth time that morning.

"What time is it?" I asked and realised how dry my mouth was.

"Almost nine o'clock."

That was pretty late for me and I didn't feel any better for it. My eyes ached so much they were on the point of burning and my muscles twinged at the slightest movement. All things I'm sure a hot shower could wash away.

"Why is everyone here?" I said to the room as I shuffled around to get clean clothes before heading to the bathroom.

"For Thanksgiving, Director."

Well shit, that came around quick.

The grogginess of the morning wore away under the steady lashing of water from the shower. When I got out I threw my clothes on and brushed my hair, opting to let it dry naturally so as to get downstairs sooner.

All the while I searched my mind for any mentions of the holiday, any plans to celebrate together that might have been hidden in Pepper's video calls, or in Tony's jokes. But there wasn't anything to be found.

And yet it was too much of a coincidence for any of this to be unplanned.

"There she is," Tony said as I walked into the kitchen to join the crowd, "wondered when you might join us."

"Did you get lost on the way to your own kitchen?" I asked as I poured myself a massive mug of coffee.

"Technically," the billionaire replied, "this is my kitchen."

I laughed and Pepper scolded him from across the room before she glided over and pulled me into a hug.

"I've hidden your work tablet and, unless it's an emergency, Friday's banned from letting you check in on anything. It's a holiday, so no working."

"Look who's talking," I said and took a seat at the dining table so I could watch Rhodey and Bruce work the kitchen, a lot harder to do now one of them was a giant. Steve stood with them, fighting the impulse to help.

"I heard that."

"I think you were meant to, honey," Tony said, "unless Nat's getting careless in her old age. How come the old man isn't helping them out?"

"I've banned him from cooking," I said with a smirk. Pepper took a seat beside me and watched the scene unfold.

"How come?" Tony asked.

"He had a streak of cooking disasters, then Okoye turned up and I didn't want anyone to think we were trying to poison her."

Tony laughed. "And the decorations," he said, "they're up so early because?"

"It's a distraction."

I felt a hand on my foot and I looked down to see Morgan smiling up at me. In a matter of seconds she was sitting on my lap and I had a sense of a good day ahead.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, unable to keep my curiosity at bay any more.

"Well, after you blew us off last year we thought we wouldn't even bother to ask," Pepper said, "especially since you ended up celebrating it anyway."

"That wasn't my idea," I said, "that was Steve." I didn't dare mention it was for my birthday, they would probably like that reminder even less.

"Even so, no excuses this year. We're in it together." Morgan chose that moment to make a noise. "See, even she agrees."

It was peaceful this morning.

Pepper and I had turfed the guys from the kitchen and left them to mill about. They were grateful to give up the cooking duties, and we were grateful because it meant a decent dinner might be in store. They found board games to give up on, film reruns to talk through, and dredged up memories of past Thanksgivings.

Peaceful

The cracks papered over. The rocky personalities sanded down.

But the faces of the missing floated before us all, as they were wont to do on days like this. They ripped through the paper and wore away the smooth edges. Friction returned to comments and tension to the atmosphere.

There were gripes and barbs and passive-aggressive comments bubbling up as if they were the ones sitting on a boiling hob instead of the pots and pans. It was hard to tell if it was more heated in the kitchen or between Tony and Steve.

Pepper and I shared a look.

"Steve, come here a sec will you?" I said. He marched over and there was a lot of undiluted emotion in his eyes.

"You better not tell me to go and cool off, I didn't do anything," he said and remembered Pepper was there, "sorry."

I searched my brain for anything relevant that I could have possibly called him over for and grabbed at the first thing that came to mind. "I wanted to make the potatoes like your mum used to, since you rave about them all the time." His eyes bore into mine and I challenged him to find a fault in my story.

"Really willing to let me back in the kitchen?" He said.

"Can't hurt with responsible supervision," I said, relieved he'd accepted the diversion, "anyway, you did a decent job last Thanksgiving. Maybe your cooking skills bloom once a year."

We busied ourselves with the meal prep as the others whiled away their time. In the heat of the kitchen Steve calmed down, helping us however he could. Every now and then Tony would throw a rueful glance our way. Pepper caught one of them and raised an eyebrow that forced his attention away from us.

"I still don't know how you put up with him constantly," I said.

"Please, you know as well as I do he's not as bad as he makes out. There are some things I wish he was less stubborn about," she looked at Steve. "You do have a way of pushing his buttons though."

Steve bristled as he took her words the wrong way. "I don't do it on purpose."

Pepper just smiled and placed a hand at the top of his arm. "I know you don't. He doesn't either."

And that was the day.

Hearty food and heartfelt exchanges. It didn't happen between everyone but it was enough. Bickering wasn't as important as it was in the days before the Snap. Both Steve and Tony held their tongues, when not so long ago they would have let them go free. Today wasn't about disagreements, or grudges, or wounded pride.

It was about the day itself. Because we were together, in the present. Finding a way to not think about the past and not worry about the future. We laughed as Bruce revealed his custom made plate with a knife and fork to match, even harder when he piled the plate to mountainous heights.

The conversation was easy, a balm upon the late night and the forced awakening. The laughter that trickled around the table was like music, and the smiles were pictures a lot of us thought we'd never see again, at least not in full force.

In the back of our minds, as always were the people who weren't there, and we took a moment to remember them.

On the day we were meant to be our most grateful, I found myself glad to still be here simply because it gives me the opportunity to guide the others home.

They're words I say a lot, and I know I have little to show for it. But I have to keep writing, to keep saying, in whatever way I can, because the hope needs to stay alive.

So that one day, they will be too.


	36. Chapter 36

**5 December 2019**

Professor Hulk?

That was the unexpected headline that flashed across the screen when I tuned into the news at midday, Tom.

It was accompanied by a photo of a very uncomfortable looking Bruce and a very long-winded spiel of hatred from a guest. The gist of which was that the Avengers still hadn't learned their lesson. We were still playing god.

Don't you hate it when people judge something they don't fully understand? They see a snippet of a situation and jump to conclusions and opinions so far from the original intention it's impossible to see the path that took them there.

I watched for a few seconds, it was enough to know the story they'd cobbled together was a putrid pile of BS. In the one video they replayed no one screamed, no one was panicked, there was no Hulkish behaviour. In fact people called out to him, greeted him a like a friend and he waved back. But the tale they weaved alongside the footage tried to paint a developing horror story.

In case you haven't realised, the media and I aren't the best of friends.

Sometimes reporters came in useful. Western media proved easy to manipulate when I was part of the KGB, a fact me and my handlers often took advantage of it. Either to eradicate stories from existence or leak truths that were stranger than fiction in an attempt to destabilise.

And sometimes it's the articles and reports themselves that help. Shield had the best analysts in the world that combed through each story to help pinpoint enemy locations or strategies. Even they missed stuff. Tony's abduction by terrorists was an example. Our inability to track him down another. However, since the events in Washington I've suspected Hydra had something to do with those failures.

But since the Avengers it's been one of our worst enemies; beaten to the top spots by Thanos and ourselves. And the thing that angers me the most is that they ask logical questions. Do we make the world safer or more dangerous?

I don't know.

And that pisses me off.

So when I tuned in to see my friend being verbally ripped apart, I almost wanted to do a Clint and cut the fuckers down.

Once upon a time I would have, but I'm a public figure in charge of other public figures and murder, sadly, was off the table.

Now I was running the Avengers my relationship with the media had come full circle. I used them to my advantage. Except, rather than being under the guise of espionage it was called PR.

"Friday."

"Yes Director."

"Why didn't you alert me to this sooner?"

"Sorry, Director, but you were busy with those reports and Doctor Banner requested I didn't bother you when he phoned."

"He phoned?"

"Tried to, yes."

"Friday."

"Calling Doctor Banner," the AI said. Her voice faded away and was replaced by the empty ringing of the line before it connected to the other end. There was no background noise and a deep voice answered.

"I'm back home."

"Hey _Prof_," I said, "it's catchy. I like it."

He snorted. "Not even sure where they came up with that."

"Think it's the glasses. And the cardigan, kinda gives you that aura."

"I don't know what you've seen," he said, opting to cut the small talk short, "but I didn't do anything, Nat."

"Oh, I know you didn't. You're entitled to go for a walk, Bruce," I said. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a little shook up," he said and I imagined him running a hand through his hair, one of his nervous tics, "I didn't expect it, you know. Which was stupid."

"A little stupid," was my reply and there was a rush of air the other end that I took to be an attempt at a laugh, "but no one's gonna blame you. There's a lot for you to think about right now."

"You wouldn't have made that mistake."

"I also wouldn't have figured out how to do what you did."

Instead of answering he opted for a silence. It was a habit he developed since returning from his space sabbatical. When he didn't know what to say next, or if he wanted the current conversation to end, he lapsed into a contemplative silence until the subject changed. It fooled no one but we humoured him because he humoured us.

"I'm afraid I do need to put my PR hat on," I said, "listening to the news anyone would think we'd built a giant ray of absolute evil and pointed it at the city."

"Sorry," he said.

"Hey, you have nothing to apologise for. Like I said, you're allowed to go for a walk without a whole PR strategy to keep you company. I'm sorry the world's full of dickheads."

We talked for a while. He answered my questions, no matter how random they seemed, and Friday dictated his words into a document. By the time we were done I also had a rough version of the statement I needed to release on behalf of the team.

"Hey," Bruce said as we were on the cusp of hanging up, "about this whole thing. Did Clint know?"

Ah, he'd put voice to the other worry flashing in the back of my mind.

"No, I couldn't track him down," I said.

"Do you reckon this'll set him off again?"

"It's possible," I answered, downplaying the voice in me head shouting out 'yes' with one hundred percent confidence, "he missed a massive part of team history."

"And that's not your fault," Bruce said, reading my mind in a way that was almost scary over the phone, "whatever happens it's not on you."

I gave him a taste of his own medicine and lapsed into a strong silence. He half laughed, half sighed.

"Anyway, what do you reckon I do now that my secret is out?" He asked.

"Carry on living your life," I said, "and set up a YouTube channel. Quick, before someone steals the Professor Hulk name."

* * *

**11 December 2019**

We have Christmas cards.

Lifeless cardboard bunting. Steve found them and strung them up. Festive, huh?

They've trickled their way in through the post. At first I thought it was fan mail for the Prof. Some of them were, most were cards. I accidentally left one out and Steve spotted it. He went snooping until he found the rest crammed into my desk drawer. Then decided to combine them with his own stash.

Most of them were from the kids at WOOPS. I knew their names from our visits to the facilities in Wakanda and Canada, or from the competition visit.

"What you've done for these kids is amazing, Nat," Steve said as I tried to get him to take the new wall hangings down, "you should celebrate it. Even if it is just hanging the cards up."

He didn't get it. He didn't understand.

It wasn't a celebration. It was a reminder.

The charity wouldn't be necessary if I'd done my job properly in the first place. And all the warmest wishes and sincerest thanks couldn't hide the fact that every single one of those children were missing their family.

So, we have Christmas cards. Empty ones on my desk.

Because when life has you pegged down it's difficult to reach out to anyone, even with the simplest of platitudes.

They deserved more than silence for their efforts.

* * *

**18 December 2019**

Hi Tom,

It took the weather a while to get the memo that we were in December. Sunlight, though weak, filtered through our windows almost every day. Sometimes interrupted by passing showers. The temperature stayed steady and not a single flake of snow entered the realm of possibility.

Until, of course, morning dawned on the one day we had somewhere to be. The sun was hidden behind a thick blanket of dark grey clouds, from which poured a torrent of wind-whipped snow.

We were only supposed to be gone for the day, but I packed an overnight bag as well as a shit-I-really-shouldn't-have-driven-in-this-blizzard survival kit. Just in case we got stranded. When I bumped into Steve in the corridor I told him to do the same. There was a tiny flicker of surprise, as if he'd expected me to cancel our trip, or maybe it was because by suggesting the kit I was admitting something might just go wrong. Either way he set his jaw into a determined grimace and did as he was told.

Friday kept us alerted to any changes in the weather as we made our preparations. Rather than get any better, the conditions worsened. But we still threw our bags in the car and clambered into the front seats. I claimed the driver's side again. Though I don't think Steve wanted to argue it too much.

As soon as the wheels crept from private land to public roads I knew it was a bad decision. Visibility was so poor I could have sworn the whole world had been erased. More than once I felt like the wise decision was to turn back, but kept the thought to myself. Steve's mind was running along the same tracks, but he decided not to keep it to himself and in fact share it every chance he got.

Sometimes I swerved on purpose just to get him to shut up. I did need to concentrate, after all.

"Would this be ironic if this is how we died?" Steve asked after one of the wheels hit a patch of ice and there were a few scary seconds before I managed to wrest control from nature. "I mean, you have all your extensive training and I have that whole history with the ice, we've overcome extreme adversity and in the end we die in a car crash."

He tried to sound light and nonchalant but the death grip on his seat and the dash told a very different story.

"We're not going to crash Steve."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I don't like irony."

He shot me a dark look but rather than return it with interest I thought it was best to keep my eyes on the road. As much as I wanted to bomb it down the road I crept along at a safe pace, on the lookout for any familiar landmarks. Though we knew the route off by heart we stuck Friday into GPS mode and she directed us.

We had the heating on in the car but it didn't do much to fight off the chill that came from just looking out at the scene around us. And right then I would have preferred something to stabilise the vehicle against the wind. A vicious gust had the car rocking and I was glad for the cautious speed I was forced to go at. Still, Steve wasn't a fan.

"Shit," he said.

"Language, soldier," I said with a smirk, "honestly, what would the you from our Hydra hunting days say if he heard you now?"

"That I'm an idiot for joining you on this suicide mission."

"I would hardly call it a mission," I said, "and anyway, this is nothing compared to Russia."

We made progress through the empty world. There were a couple of other cars on the road with us but for the most part people had the common sense to steer clear of the outside world. Though we didn't hit another patch of ice and we suffered through many gusts of wind buffeting us about, Steve never relinquished his grip on the car.

If he'd left dents I would have been seriously pissed.

At last the building loomed ahead, almost indistinct in the blizzard. We lingered in the car longer than we needed to, neither of us looking forward to the cold and wind that welcomed us as soon as we opened our doors.

"You sure you're up for this?" He said.

And I was transported to the night before when the tale of the arms dealer I was tracking for Okoye had taken a turn for the worst. Steve and I were called to a crime scene and it was worse than anything we'd seen as a result of Clint. The victims there were all young and innocent, the only point in their deaths being the lesson the dealer was teaching to his enemies.

It must have been an old lesson. The bodies weren't very fresh. That was the only reason they were found.

We gathered enough information to know they were linked to the guy we were hunting. And there were enough local authorities and political figures involved for me to figure out keeping my promise to Okoye had just got a lot more complicated.

It was already gone midnight by the time we got home. The rotten taste of the discovery still at the back of my throat. Carol, Nebula and Rocket decided to phone. They were on their way back and had met up. They wanted to let me know about their progress. They should be with us in the next couple of days.

Sleep was once again elusive. The bodies haunting all the shadows, even the ones behind my eyelids.

"I better be, after battling the forces of nature to get here," I said, doing my best to hide the exhaustion set deep into my bones. "What about you?"

"I was hoping being round lots of people would help me forget. Do you think anyone else showed?"

"I'm sure they found a way."

The slamming doors were muffled in the howling wind. We grabbed our bags and fought our way to the front door. Snow tried to pile up in the doorway but it was ushered on by the relentless breeze. It opened before we could ring the bell.

"I can't believe guys came," Bruce said when he answered the door, "we could have pushed it back."

"Can't push your birthday back, Bruce," Steve said.

"Is it his birthday though?" Rhodey called out from the comfort of a deep looking chair. Tony, Pepper and Morgan were there too. Almost everyone accounted for. The usual suspects missing. The heating was up full blast and feeling started to come back to my hands, feet, ears and nose as I defrosted. "I mean, this is a new Bruce, maybe we should be celebrating on Halloween now."

"Man's got a point," Tony said, arms full of Morgan, "would be nice if the last few months of the year weren't so busy."

"You're part of the problem there," I said as I chucked my bag down next to Steve's, "with your anniversary in September."

"Says the woman whose birthday is in November," Steve muttered, though it was still loud enough for everyone to hear.

"What? When? Why didn't you say?" Pepper pulled her phone out her pocket to make a note. "What's the date?"

I just rolled my eyes and shot Steve a look that threatened to chuck him outside, though that didn't stop him from blabbing the date to her as he passed.

"Anyway, happy birthday Bruce," I said, "sorry we're late"

"You're not late, everyone else was early," he chuckled.

"Yeah Blondie," Tony said walking over and I soon found Morgan in my arms, "because we had the good sense to check the weather forecast in advance."

There was no point in mentioning we were working. It would lead to a debate I'd heard enough of and had no desire to dredge up. Plus, the images from the day before were ones Steve and I wanted to remove from our memories.

"Daddy's smug, isn't he?" I said to Morgan who laughed. "Yeah he is. A little too smug."

He just flashed me a smile when I looked at him. "Of course I'm smug, I'm Tony Stark."

I couldn't help but laugh.

It was another cosy evening. Friends hanging with friends. Warm in spite of the cold that pounded against the walls outside.

But I couldn't relax, not as I had on Thanksgiving. Steve couldn't either. This arms dealer was proving much more difficult to take down than we anticipated. And there were others, too. More gangs crawling out the woodwork, more heists and dealing and violence.

We were doing a good job of fighting it, but there was also more of it than a year ago. More threats to the fragile peace that had settled over the globe. And if something was missed, if something spilled over, well, neither of us were sure the Avengers were up to that task yet.

* * *

**24 December 2019**

I wish Clint was here.

I wish I'd managed to bring him back with me.

I should have forced him onto the jet and got Friday to put him on lockdown as soon as we landed at the compound.

I should have hit him upside the head until he saw sense. Cognitive recalibration.

But I just left him there, in pain on his kitchen floor.

I owe him everything. And yet I give him nothing.

His favourite day of the year is Christmas Eve. Or it used to be. Not because the kids were good without convincing, not even because he got to sneak around and play Santa. But because of all the silly little traditions they had. The ones they all did together.

It was their own Christmas day to themselves, no extended family there to stir the pot, no tension to dodge, no family arguments to rehash. Just the five of them doing the things they loved.

Nate was just a kid, it was all still new and exciting to him. He still saw the magic, waited for the man in red to pop down the chimney, listened for the sleigh to rattle and clatter on the roof. He was the last one to sleep the night before and the first one awake on Christmas morning. He loved every moment just as his dad did. And his naive passion ignited Clint's inner child.

Cooper and Lila had learned to reign in their excitement. They still did the same old things but pretended they were doing their parents a favour. They kept on a passive mask in case anyone saw, because it wasn't cool to be into the lame family stuff. But they still loved it. Sometimes their masks slipped and the smiles shone.

Lying in bed, watching the clock count down. All I saw was the way Clint's eyes lit up whenever he talked about their Christmas. The familiar yet fond way his lips curved around their names, the goofy grin whenever he mentioned Laura. I always marvelled at that. How after so long he was still so in love.

Actually, no. Scratch that.

Laura's amazing. Of course he's still in love with her.

I marvelled at how time had never dulled it. At how every time I saw them they'd found a way to fall for each other a little bit more.

It was a little sickening.

Because it was so sweet.

And because it was about to be Christmas again and Clint was alone. None of those traditions done. No one to share it with.

Damn it. I wish Clint was here.

* * *

**25 December 2019**

Have you ever celebrated Christmas with aliens?

No?

I don't think Rocket and Nebula have either.

Rocket knew what it was. Quill had to explain when the raccoon caught him hanging some makeshift baubles on a sleeping Groot. And Nebula knew only because her father made a point of understanding how other races lived before he massacred them.

Both were confused when they strolled off their ship, a little surprised by the snow but more shocked at the transformation of the compound they'd come to know. Even Carol did a double take.

No surprise it wasn't a tradition we shared with the Kree, and in the intervening years since the initial visit to Earth that revealed who she truly was, she'd only celebrated a couple of times. With who, I had no idea. She was still quiet on that front. And I couldn't imagine Nick donning a Christmas pudding eye patch and pulling out a festive leather trench coat.

I expected Rocket to be full on Grinch, but he showed a curiosity for all festive things. He pointed at the stockings and asked what they were, looked up at the tree and I swear he thought about trying to climb it before asking why it didn't smell like a forest, he laughed himself hoarse at Steve's Christmas jumper, and I had to stop him from eating mistletoe -which he'd managed to fish out of the box of the very few unused decorations - and almost lost a finger for my trouble.

"I better not need to get a rabies shot," I said as I cleaned the wound out.

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't," he said then muttered, "hell if I know what that is. What kinda moron shoves their hand in someone's face?"

"The kinda moron stopping a different sorta moron from chewing on fake berries," I said and started to bandage the bite. "If you ever see those in the wild, feel free to go take your fill."

"Umm, aren't they poisonous?" Steve said.

"Oh, are they," I said with feigned ignorance, "then by all means, fill your boots."

Carol snorted and Steve managed to direct the conversation away from the violence threatening to pop up. The upside to the whole incident was that Rocket curbed his impulses. The downside was that the amount of questions he asked went up.

It was more difficult than babysitting Morgan.

And he was here for longer.

In contrast to her fellow Guardian, Nebula spent the days quieter than usual. I would walk into her unexpectedly, or she would come and sit with me while I worked, but never spared a word. Even when Steve joined us and tried talking to her, she was reluctant to utter anything. She kept everything close to her chest, helped by the enhancements her father forced upon her. The only thing that had anything to say were her eyes. And even then I wasn't sure what they screamed.

So when this morning dawned, Christmas morning, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Surely a bunch of questions right? Maybe a sullen silence? Some awkward stories from the captains?

I awoke to a sleepy compound, feeling worse than if I'd stayed awake the entire night. My body wanted more of the unconscious bliss but my mind denied it the pleasure. My first thoughts were of Clint and the foolish notion to steal the Quinjet and head to the farm. Then my ever-busy train of thought smashed through the idea without slowing down. He wouldn't be there. He wouldn't be anywhere I knew to look.

Does that mean I shouldn't look, though?

A question I grappled with until the moment I slid into my chair and had Friday load everything up. With no one else around I was free to work.

Call me Scrooge if you want, but at least I'm not taking anyone else down with me.

A couple of hours passed. I used them wisely, trudging through some of the essential crap that had built up while I took care of the more interesting stuff. All the while Friday ran a search in the background. Keeping an eye out for a swordsman who might look more comfortable with a bow and arrow in his hands.

When I heard the footsteps I swiped the search away. If Friday found him while there were witnesses there'd be a full team of Avengers swooping in on his location quicker than it takes Santa to name his reindeer.

But it was Nebula who walked through the door. Until then my only company was a half drunk cup of coffee, the peeled skin of a few pieces of fruit, and my tablet.

"Merry Christmas," I said without thinking. She halted in her steps and looked around as if I could possibly be talking to someone else.

She gave me a sharp nod in response before she strolled the rest of the way into the room and took her usual seat. She was a tough one to figure out.

"First one up?" I asked.

"No," she said, "you were."

"The others?"

"I have not seen them."

And our conversation died before it had a chance to live. I made my way through a few more emails, saving my responses in my drafts folder to stop someone from accusing me of not acting in the spirit of the holiday (Steve).

I felt her presence all the while. Though we've known each other for some time now, she cut a lonely figure in her chair, looking out at the white world surrounding the building. Even more so than the other times I'd seen her. I remembered our conversation by the lake, the promise to have each other's back. And as much as I wanted to ignore whatever complexity she posed, I knew I couldn't.

She was part of this team. And a promise is a promise.

"C'mon," I said. I stood up and gestured for her to follow. She did so without hesitation. It was a sign of how used she was to orders that she didn't question our destination. "I figured we could spend some time in the gym."

"My enhancements ensure I am always ready for combat."

"No combat on Christmas," I said, "this is about blowing off steam."

"Blowing off steam?" she tilted her head.

"Yeah, a bit of fun."

"You find beating people up fun?"

"Would you judge me if I said yes?"

She thought for a second as we stepped into the lift. "Yes. I would judge you well." Though we stayed silent during the ride to the floor she seemed more comfortable in the quiet than she had done since touching down. I wondered if this was what I was like when I first defected.

"Now," I said as we walked into the cavernous space decked out with all sorts of workout equipment and a sizeable sparring area, "how would you usually train?"

"Against an opponent," she said and eyed me with caution.

"I'm resourceful and I like to take on a challenge, but I think right now let's get you some one on one with the punching bag."

Yeah, I'm resourceful and yeah I like a challenge, but I was also smart. Without knowing a bit more about her there was no way we were sparring. Technological advancements, from a different planet - did I stand a chance? I'm not too proud to say no. I was at peak physical condition for a human, that's what the programme at the Red Room was all about and no matter what I made sure I stayed that way. But how did humans compare to other alien species?

No way was I being that guinea pig.

I can honestly say I have never seen Nebula so involved. It took her less than five minutes to destroy the first punching bag. I expected her to knock it off the hook, but no, she punched right through it. It was the second one that was knocked off. And I just about managed to save the third as her intensity ramped up. The look on her face was one I knew well, having seen it in the mirror far too many times.

We practiced her aim too and this one I did join in on. Though hesitant at first she came to enjoy the competition. When she won I saw the first true smile from her, heard the first true laugh. We moved to the shooting range and I had the edge, she didn't seem to mind too much.

Sometimes we spoke and when we did she would talk of the times she competed against her sister. Not in too much depth, just the cold hard facts. But between the lines she painted a picture of two people suffering much deprivation, and hers made worse by the constant success of her sister.

I've often compared our lives, but the truth was by the time we finished our session in the gym I saw Yelena in her. I saw everything I caused her, whether I meant to or not. That brought up a lot of feelings but the loudest was that I was glad I didn't just leave her sitting while I worked.

We came across Steve, Rocket and Carol in the kitchen. The latter attempted breakfast while the raccoon gave his support in a range of colourful jeers. Nebula joined the captain, more relaxed and up for conversation than before. Steve hunched over the table as he scanned the paper. He looked up when I slipped into the seat beside him.

"Happy Christmas, Nat," he smiled.

"Merry Christmas Steve." There was a lull in the kitchen noise and his stomach rumbled, "waiting to get fuelled up before our foray outside?"

"You know it."

"Outside? What's happening outside?" Rocket said, directing his attention from the chefs to us.

"Just a tradition," Steve said with a shrug and the other guy turned away. I fell into the back of my chair, only just resisting the urge to rest my feet on the table. Judging from Steve's smirk he could tell.

"What are you idiots doing? It's like you've never cooked an egg before," Rocket jumped from his seat, dragged it along behind him and attempted to climb onto the counter tops to add his two cents worth.

"No," Carol said, "get out of it, I saw you shedding on the ship the other day. You'll get fur in everyone's food."

They continued to bicker and we let them, because what's Christmas without some frustration. Their voices washed over me and mixed with my memories of Sam and Wanda on the run. For the most part they got on but there were the odd times when tempers frayed, and being the closest in age they tended to take it out on each other. To be expected when you're stuck with the same people day in and day out with limited freedom and the very real threat of discovery. It wasn't often we could get out for a bit of R&R, so Steve and I would come up with a distraction. A way to bond the team.

Our little Christmas tradition was one of those.

"All I'm saying is you guys might appreciate the particular difficulties of my life a little bit more if you coughed up some fur balls too."

And with that sobering sentence I came crashing back to the present. Carol pulled a face at Rocket as he gestured towards the pan. "A lot of weird things have happened in my life, but getting cooking tips from a raccoon has to be near the top of the list."

"You can't just talk to me like that. Hey Nebula, whose side are you on here?"

Though the words and the issues were different, I saw the same thing I did after Sokovia.

"Maybe we should bring them along," I whispered after I nudged Steve. He looked up and I was transported back to our conversation last year. I wondered if his state of mind was any different. And if so, was it better or worse?

"For the snowman?" I nodded and he took a good look at them, the two woman and a rodent sniping at each other while they tried to cook a Christmas breakfast despite two thirds never having celebrated it before. And I knew he saw what I did.

"Yeah, okay. I think it'll be good for them."

And that's how we once again found ourselves outside in the snow, giving the unlikeliest of teams a lesson in how to build a snowman. There were plenty to add to our tally, better than last year's. Especially when Bruce and Rhodey turned up. The Starks wanted to spend their first Christmas with Morgan to themselves, which was fair enough. By the end of our fun outside we had a snow War Machine, Hulk, Rocket, and a passable version of Nebula to add to our gallery.

Then Carol threw a snowball in Rocket's face and we focussed on destruction rather than construction.

"Good day?" Steve asked when he joined me in the living area. Rocket had come back in with clumps of fur frozen together and had yet to re-emerge from his quarters. Nebula had gone back to the gym, this time with Carol joining her. Rhodey and Bruce were setting up their rooms for the night.

"Better than I expected," I said.

"Yeah, same." He gave me an odd look.

"Out with it soldier."

"I, uh. I may have got you something."

For the first time I noticed both hands were hidden behind his back and he shifted nervously on his feet. "You know you shouldn't have done that, right?"

"Couldn't think of a better use of my time." I sighed and shifted on the sofa so he could sit down. "It's nothing much, but here."

He handed me what looked like a roll of paper with a red ribbon tied around it. I wasn't far off. With as much delicacy as I could muster I untied the ribbon and what unfurled was something I never expected, though perhaps I should have.

Three sheets of paper, each with a lovingly rendered a breathtaking sketch. The first that presented itself was of the full team. Me, Clint, Steve, Bruce, Tony, Thor, Sam, Rhodey, Wanda and Vision. We looked at ease with each other. At home. Before the troubles started, or before we'd realised they'd started. It was so realistic my breath caught at seeing Wanda, Sam and Vision after so long.

"You probably coulda put Bucky in this," I said trying to draw the attention away from the emotions I knew were swimming in my eyes.

"I thought about it but then I figured you wouldn't appreciate the reminder of the guy who shot you twice."

I laughed. It was such a typical Steve thought. The whole thing. I can imagine him umming and ahhing, wondering how I was going to react to seeing their faces.

I slid the first sheet and put it on the side table. The next picture was of the new team. Recently drawn because the Bruce that stood at the back was the hulking yet not Hulkish version. Steve and Tony were there too, as were Rocket, Nebula, Rhodey, Okoye and Carol. Steve wasn't the naive sort to sketch a happy face on a team formed during the hardest of times. What I saw in the image was a group of people, determined and ready to take anything on. And I marvelled at how he managed to fit all of that into the delicate pencil markings and shading.

"Steve," I said, not entirely sure what was going to come next, "you really did miss your calling."

"Can't say I lived a wasted life though." He smiled, though he looked nervous and I knew what was coming next. A lump formed in my throat and I did my best to push it back down before placing the second sheet on the first and looking at the third.

Exactly what I thought it would be.

The Bartons. All of them. Happy and smiling and waving and just like I last remembered seeing them. Nate writhing in Laura's arms, a slight scowl on his face as he was refused his freedom. For her part Laura managing to keep her son on her hip with one arm while bidding me farewell with the other. Lila leaning away from Clint as he grabbed her around the middle. She was laughing as she waved, Clint had that all too common boyish grin. Then there was Cooper. Hanging out at the back, looking far too shy to be the boy I watched grow up. But Steve was his idol and that's what happened when presented with your heroes.

I didn't know what to do so I just continued to stare. I felt the burning in my eyes and the slight pounding in my head as I forced the emotion away. How Steve had done this from memory I would never fully understand. How did he have the ability to recreate life in such beautiful drawings? I didn't have the words then to tell him how much I appreciated what he'd given me. I still don't.

"Steve," I said, "these are - these are beautiful. I can't believe you did this."

"I was going to do one of Tony, Pepper and Morgan too," he said, "but I don't think he would have appreciated me drawing them."

I put the last sketch with the others and threw my arms around him. It was the only way I knew to make sure he fully understood my feelings on the matter. "I don't know what I did to deserve you as a friend. But thank you."

He returned my hug and we sat like that for a few seconds until I broke it. He watched as I reached behind the cushion and pulled out a wrapped gift for him.

"Of course I got something for you too." I didn't know what he was more embarrassed about my uncharacteristic display of emotion or that he was now the centre of attention. He held it in his hands and just looked at it. I was tempted to make a joke, but knowing what he was holding I held my tongue. At last he started t unwrap it and I had the distinct impression he knew what it was before he'd fully revealed it.

"Nat," he said, barely able to say my name, "how?"

"A lot of searching. A lot of favours."

He opened then lifted the aging book to his nose and breathed it in. He wiped his eyes before any tears could land on the pages. "I haven't seen her handwriting in so long."

"I figured if anyone could fix your skills in the kitchen it would be your mum." He gave a watery smile and a choked laugh before hugging Sarah Rogers' recipe book to his chest. For a moment I saw the boy from before the serum. The one with no expectation on his shoulders. The kid who struggled through his life and loved the woman who supported him all the way. And then he hugged me.

"Thank you," he said when he pulled away, "I thought I'd lost everything of hers. I don't know anyone else who would do this for me, Nat."

"Pretty much everyone, Steve. You mean a lot to a lot of people."

"Then you should know it's the same for you."


	37. Chapter 37

It was quiet in the truck.

Aside from the radio crooning softly between Clint and Hill. It barely reached the point of hearing, as if it wasn't sure it should make any noise.

And aside from the rattling and sputtering of the truck itself that couldn't say any clearer 'fix me, I'm on my last legs', which Clint ignored.

The shopping they collected a silent intruder to their thoughts.

It hadn't been quiet in there. In the store.

Tannoy announcements. Scanned barcodes. Buzzing clamour of many people all at once. And through it all cut the judging, robotic voice of the self-service tills that announced to everyone gathered nearby that someone in their midst had done something wrong.

A worm of anxiety had burrowed its way into Clint's gut as he stood on the threshold, soaking in the extreme amount of humanity. He had ventured into the world since the population boom, but never during peak shopping hours.

His knuckles had turned white with the tightening of his grip on the trolley.

For five years the big crowds he'd been a part of had all involved violence. Not getting caught in the aisle between a man who smelled like he'd refused to wash during those five years, and a middle-aged woman with a curious compulsion to narrate her life story while grabbing a carton of milk.

Hill noticed, because that's the sort of thing she did, and disappeared only to come back with armfuls of items to tick off their list. She had ushered him up and down the aisles, kept up a chatter that was nothing but distraction.

And yet it hadn't distracted him as much as the disagreement he'd heard between a customer and a sales assistant.

"I'm sorry sir," the latter had said, "but if your name isn't on the list I can't serve you alcohol."

"What crap," the customer said, voice lowered to make himself sound older.

"I'm just following the rules sir, and the list says you were taken in the Blip. Until the new IDs are sent you can't buy alcohol."

Clint's grip strangled the trolley handle.

The Blip.

That was like calling the World Wars the Minor Disagreements.

Still, there was some logic. An atrocious name for an atrocious event.

His annoyance - no, no, best not to beat around the bush - his anger at the name kept him going until they reached the tills as the front of the store. Where bunting was strung up along the windows.

And he came crashing back to the life he lived.

Thank you Iron Man.

Another mini memorial to one of his lost friends.

Lost? It's not like he misplaced them. He was a grown man. He should be able to think word. _Dead_.

The mind was a strange place, he decided. At home he'd accepted, or was accepting, it. But when confronted by the world around him he found it harder. Despite the overwhelming evidence.

Of the lack of _one_ of his friends.

He tried not to take it personally.

If the farm was like her home then the town was the closest she had to a hometown. And her passing had passed it by.

Hill coughed. With it came the cranky sounding truck and the realisation he was approaching a red light. He braked. The shopping shuffled together. A thunk as something fell over.

Clint sighed and Hill smiled, but it wasn't long before it faded.

"I'm worried about Rogers," she said.

"Did the old man crossing the road remind you of that?"

"You know you really should respect your elders, Barton. Your kids will learn from your example and, to be honest, I can't wait to see what kind of crap they're gonna pull with you."

"At least I'll know I've taught them well."

The old man struggled onto the high kerb and carried on out of sight. The light stayed red and Clint felt compelled to carry on their conversation.

"What's got you worried?"

"His lack of an emotional support assassin."

"His lack of a what?" Clint asked. The light turned green and the truck started to move again with a cacophony of operatic squeals.

"Ooh, can you turn in here," she tapped her window, "bookstore."

"Sure," he said and indicated.

"Emotional support assassin. You know, rooftop meetings in the depths of night. Profound conversations. Comfortable silences where they just go about doing their own thing but in each other's company. Like it or not, she was his you."

"She was what now?"

"When Natasha came to her new life in America it was a world she didn't know. Yes, there were similarities, but it was a different way of living. There were things she didn't understand. But you were there all the way, encouraging her, helping her, guiding her. She settled because you helped. And she paid it forward with Rogers."

Clint pulled into a parking space and didn't say anything to the woman sitting across from him. His mind was back on the plateau where they'd shared their last moments together. And he understood a little bit more why she fought so hard. He had felt lost after Coulson's death. Even worse whenever he remembered he had a part to play in it, however inadvertent. But he had his family to recover with and Nat to grieve with.

"Are you saying someone needs to speak to him?"

"If he would even talk," Hill sighed, "he might give his emotions away without much prompting but he's almost as private as she was. He was in so much pain yesterday, didn't you see? He was right back there in the room during her description of Bruce's transformation. He relived every word, same for their drive in the blizzard. And their little gift exchange, hearing her write about those drawings - at one point I thought he was gonna bolt out the room. I mean, Jesus, I had a lump in my throat and I wasn't even there."

They clambered out of the car and slammed the doors shut behind them. Clint took a deep breath, all too familiar with the shop they were about to enter.

"I'm worried about him," Hill repeated, "he might be one of the best strategic minds around, but he makes rash decisions and if left to his own devices I feel like he's going to make a bad one."

"I'm not sure what I can do," Clint said, checking the road before crossing, "I don't know him like she did."

"But you knew her. You know what she would say. The only time he looked different yesterday was when she said he was a man born before his time. I think he seemed a little proud, or happy. Whatever it was, it was different from this depression he's given in to. For his sake, he needs someone to talk to."

"He needs the right person to talk to, Hill. I'm not sure that's me."

"Have to try, right?"

They stood outside the store. There were peeling letters stuck to the glass of the aged window. Hill had never struck Clint as much of a reader, but then neither had Nat and she proved him wrong too.

"Why'd you wanna go here?" Clint asked.

"Got a long trip coming up, need some material. And I never really get on with eReaders."

Inside, the air was dusty, as it always was in a second-hand bookstore. The aging books scented the space and covers of all shapes and sizes stared back at them. His companion was the first to step from the much worn welcome mat and deeper into the store.

The light that filtered in from outside was hazy. A film of dust spread across the windows. In any other shop it wouldn't look right. But in that one it felt fitting.

He rarely visited it without Natasha. In fact, the last time he was in there was before the whole Accords thing blew up in their faces. They spent over an hour browsing the shelves and talking to the owner. Afterwards she said it was payback for the time he spent an hour drooling over a crossbow she knew he wasn't going to buy because he much preferred long bows.

"Mister Barton?" A strong but weary voice called from behind the till, the owner was an elderly man that refused to let age chip away at his posture, "and - oh, you're not Laura. Or Nadia."

Hill smiled and introduced herself. She didn't question the stranger's name for Nat, knowing full well it was one of her many aliases. She did, however, struggle to hide her grin at the sight of the man's very loud bow tie.

"Ugly, isn't it?" The shopkeeper said, straightening it while it was under scrutiny, "but that's why I like it so much."

The man adjusted some books on a table and Clint search his brain for a name to put to the face but came up empty. In the end he was saved the embarrassment when the older man spoke again.

"Haven't seen you in a while. Though I suspect it's been longer for you." It unnerved the archer how those who came back did so with a seemingly preternatural ability to tell who was snapped away and who wasn't. "Is Nadia with you? I have some books for her out back. Held on to them for a while, no one else round here would want them. In Russian, you see."

"Oh," Hill said, a saddened frown darkening her face for a moment, "they might be for me."

"Possibly, but I did agree the sale with Nadia-"

"Natasha," Clint said, knowing full well it was rude and unprofessional but he was no longer able to take the falsity falling from the stranger's lips.

"Ah, but she said-"

"I know what she said, but her name was Natasha."

A silence fell over the three of them and Clint wondered if he'd been _too_ rude, too forceful. But a flicker of realisation and a small utterance from the shopkeeper told him the truth.

"Was?"

At that point Clint suffered the dual feeling of regret for entering the store in the first place and dread. Dread because, without warning, he found himself having to break the news for the third time, and it was just as painful with this almost stranger as with the faces he knew so well.

"Nat, uh, Natasha. She, she died."

He felt like he should say more. Like she deserved more than just those few words. But what else was there to say? The fact of the matter was that it was as final as it sounded.

He read the emotions as they flickered across the shopkeeper's face. The predominant one was shock. Then, without a word, Clint and Hill were left alone on the shop floor as he bustled away. The two of them shared a look and Clint couldn't tell what was going on behind her eyes.

"Here, take them," the owner said when he came back grasping two paperbacks, "free of charge."

"I can't do that," Clint said, "I'll pay. She would make me suffer if I left you out of pocket."

It was true. Not many people knew many things about Natasha Romanoff. Clint was one of the few who did. And he knew she had a soft spot for this shop and its owner. If she hadn't then she wouldn't have kept on returning.

After forcing the moneyy into the man's hands, Clint and Hill returned to the truck and went on their merry way. And they once again suffered the uncertain radio and sputtering engine, joined by books in Cyrillic that slipped and slid along the dash every time Clint hit the brakes. Eventually Hill gathered them up and kept them on her knee.

"Do you reckon he figured out this Natasha," she tapped the front of the top book then gestured vaguely out the window, "is that Natasha."

"I reckon he'll use Google to help put two and two together." He felt the sidelong glance more than saw it. "I know I shouldn't have told him her real name. But going along with it just felt like I was denying her. It's stupid, I know. But what harm is it gonna do, Hill? She's not here anymore."

He didn't get an answer and he found he didn't want one. Nor did he need one. He didn't regret it. She had so many aliases there were tons of people out there who knew her by the wrong name. It felt good to set one right.

"I did always wonder where she got the books from," Hill said, filling the silence with what sounded like an inane statement, but then he remembered what she'd said earlier.

"What makes you think they're for you?"

"Well, they're yours now."

"Hill."

She grinned at him then fixed her gaze on the road in front. "We had a kinda book club going on. Just us two. Didn't think you'd want to take part. And Coulson was too busy. I never let her read them in English or Russian, and she only let me read them in Russian. Dumb, right? But a good way to keep our language skills fresh."

"No," Clint said, "that's not dumb. I bet you she appreciated it a lot.

"Never said," Hill shrugged and wiped at her cheek. It was a move so unlike her the next remark was out of Clint's mouth before he had time to process it.

"Wow, a tear from Maria Hill?"

"Of course, Barton. It's not just you guys suffering. I miss her too."

She stroked the front cover of one of the books, absent in her actions. Clint reached out and grabbed one of her hands. He squeezed, trying to share some sort of comfort. And she squeezed back.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hi guys! Hope you're all doing good. Just wanted to give you a heads up that the next chapter will be posted in two weeks rather than one - Sorry!**

**Stay safe and well :)**


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